Tracks in the Sand
by SeeStar
Summary: The story of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour's unlikely... and highly volatile romance.
1. Default Chapter

A/N- Hi! Thank you for clicking. Well, I've decided that if I want a Bill/Fleur fic, I'll just have to write one myself. There seems to be only one more here that isn't just a viggie, and I'm going to check that out now.

First, the OC character I have Bill talking to here is going to be a recurring character at best. I'm trying to keep the OCs down to a minimum... I get them mixed up sometimes.

Second, I sincerely apologize for not having Fleur and her family speak French. I don't know more than ten words of it myself and I don't want to horribly mangle the language and offend people! So, I will just cut the accent there...

Any suggestions/comments/reviews/flames are welcome. :) Oh, and I plan on updating about once week. My first fic and readers take top priority because they were there first. They get two updates. :P

_**Chapter One: Departures.**_

The profession of a cursebreaker was a highly regarded one in the Wizarding world. To a Muggle, it was an organized form of grave robbery… but to Wizards, it was merely recovery of long-lost treasure, which had belonged to great Wizards of long ago.

As most humans, these ancient lords had been extremely greedy, had conjured large amounts of gold and buried it underground in deep, complex sets of catacombs, which contained many traps and pitfalls. So, it had become necessary for the Goblins, the bankers of the Wizarding world, to send in a recon team of sorts.

It was an extremely dangerous and quite demanding job . . . which was exactly why Bill Weasley loved it.

He and his partner had been sent to recover the treasure of a relatively minor… but reportedly powerful Egyptian Wizard, who had died many centuries before and had been buried within a complex system of tombs.

Unfortunately, the ancient lord had been more jealously possessive of his fortune than the Goblins had predicted.

It was because of this oversight that two cursebreakers, one of which was still relatively new at the business, were left to deal with six of the lord's bodyguards, who had been buried with him.

Mummy guards. Very angry mummy guards. They didn't like people waking them up while attempting to steal their lord's treasure. Not at all.

His partner of a few weeks slashed her wand across the chest of one particularly gruesome specimen, shouting an unintelligible spell along with it. It didn't have much effect. Bill grabbed her by the waist and yanked her into the niche he was defending.

"I-I think we may need to call for backup," she gasped, wide-eyed.

"It wasn't supposed to be this bad." Bill swore under his breath. "We need to get out and let them get a bigger team to deal with this."

She nodded, looking slightly disappointed. Bill looked around the corner again. "Try for the far entrance. They seem to be ignoring it. Don't do anything stupid."

Rolling her eyes at him, she started inching her way across the chamber, wand at the ready.

They didn't notice her at first, being wholly occupied with the hexes Bill was sending their way. But they were undead… not stupid.

The young woman made it halfway across before she had to sprint for it, throwing freezing charms in her wake.

Bill cursed again and went after her, kicking one guard out of his way. Sometimes, the only thing that was effective against a mummy was splitting their heads open against a wall… and sometimes not even that.

He quickly dropped to the ground squeezed through the rapidly narrow entry. Once he was sure his partner had made it out before him, he pointed his wand at the opening and shouted, "_Reducto_!"

It worked. The curse hit the little army of mummies full on. Bits of old linen… and long-dry flesh… flew at the two cursebreakers. Bill quickly sealed off the door completely with a muttered, "_Colloportus_" They ducked behind a wall, collapsing to the floor.

"Hahaha," his partner laughed gleefully. "Mummy meat! Take that, you badgy old coots!"

Bill lay in the dust for a moment, panting. "I'm not going to miss that."

His partner, a petite young woman named Sam, laughed weakly. "I like it." She had only been out of training a few months. The novelty of it all hadn't quite worn off yet.

Standing up and dusting himself off, Bill helped Sam to her feet. "You just wait until those bruises start showing up."

She waved him off. "Yes, yes…"

They slowly threaded their way through the tombs, not talking much. They had been able to clear out this section, at least. It was safe.

Bill was in no hurry to leave. This was his last job for the Egyptian branch of Gringotts bank… the one that collected treasure and sent it to England. His last job as a cursebreaker.

After the rise of Voldemort at the end of the Tri Wizard Tournament that year, Bill had been asked to join a secret organization called the Order of the Phoenix by his father and had quickly accepted. Unfortunately, the only way he could be of any use meant moving to London.

He wasn't very happy at all about trading in his exciting, interesting occupation for a cushy desk job in London… but everyone had to make sacrifices if the Order was to survive. There might not _be_ any tombs to come back to if the Order failed. A small comfort was knowing that he was going to see his little brothers and sister more often. He missed the little monsters.

Bill shielded his eyes with a hand as they came out into the open.

"What are you going to do at the main office, then? Break into old castles?" Sam asked cheerily, walking quickly in front of him, in a hurry to get out of the heat.

"There aren't any openings for cursebreakers in England. I'll be working as an accountant as far as I can tell," he chuckled. Sam stopped suddenly, nearly causing him to run into her.

"A _desk_ job," she repeated drolly. "You're leaving us for a _desk_ job."

"I believe I said that," Bill said calmly.

"I can't believe this. Have you gone senile?"

Bill looked at her pleadingly. "My parents need me at home, all right? I really can't tell you anything else." He continued walking, looking back to make sure she was keeping up.

"The top-secret workings of the Weasley family too secret for the likes of us, eh?" Sam teased, running to keep up with his long strides.

"I think that's the whole point of it being secret, Sam," Bill sighed. Respect her, like her as a co-worker though he did, she could be a real pain in the… neck sometimes. "Honestly… it's nothing sinister. My mum is in a fix… my brother is being a prat and upsetting her. I need to transfer home for a while to knock some sense into him. All right?"

"All right then," Sam pouted. "You lie very convincingly, I'll give you that."

"Sam!" Bill blushed hotly as the other workers stared at them. "Just… stop."

Sam was immediately silent and stayed that way for quite awhile. "Which brother is giving your mum trouble?" she asked finally.

"Percy… you remember him… glasses, doesn't like sunlight much?" Bill supplied, glad at the change of subject.

"Ooh," she grinned. "That one. The one that got himself locked in the tombs."

Bill suppressed a laugh at the memory. "Well, _he_ didn't exactly get himself locked in there, but yeah, that's him all right."

Sam looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then said: "Punch him in the nose for me."

Bill mock-saluted. "Yes ma'am."

Sam gave him an arch look. "Very funny. Now go away. Have fun with the paperwork."

"I will," Bill grinned, shaking her hand firmly. "Take care of yourself."

As they parted ways at the entrance to the building, Bill waved to her and walked on in the hot sun, taking his last look around at the harsh Egyptian landscape.

* * *

Fleur Delacour frowned at her little sister and said, for what she was sure was the tenth time that morning: "Gabrielle, stop playing with the trunk…. You mustn't … " She let out an exasperated sigh and walked back into her bedroom, where her younger sister, Gabrielle, was attempting to help her pack.

Because she was still five years shy of being allowed to do magic outside of the Academy, Gabrielle had offered to fold clothes before Fleur shrunk them so that they would all fit into her trunk. However, becoming bored with this, Gabrielle had taken to going through Fleur's papers the moment her sister left the room.

She crept up behind her sister, who seemed engrossed in the yellowed piece of parchment she held. Fleur quickly darted out and snatched the parchment away. It was the letter she had received only two days before, informing her that she had been hired to work at Gringotts, the Wizarding bank in London.

"What are you doing, reading this again?" she asked, confused. Gabrielle had seen it before… they had all read it dozens of times.

It was only then that she noticed Gabrielle was crying. Fleur's frown deepened. She sat down on the still-unmade bed. "What is it?"

"You're going to where that horrible, bad wizard is," she sobbed. "I don't want you to!"

Fleur sighed softly and gathered her sister into a hug, letting her cry. "You know I have to," she scolded gently. "You shouldn't cry about it."

She made Gabrielle stand and walked her towards the stairs. If she missed the Portkey, she wouldn't be able to leave until the next day. "And you will come to see me all the time," she soothed, muttering at charm under her breath to make the trunk follow them down the narrow staircase. "Nothing will happen to me."

"You promise?" Gabrielle sniffed, leaning on her sister.

"Of course," Fleur replied firmly, rubbing the girl's back comfortingly.

They came out into the dining room, where their mother was daintily eating a pastry while engrossed in the paper. She waved vaguely, but didn't look up when her girls entered the room. She looked perfectly groomed, as usual, a stark contrast to her daughters, who were rather flustered-looking from the busy morning. "Are you ready, Fleur?" she asked.

Fleur nodded, patting her trunk with her free hand. "We've finished."

"Good." Her mother glanced at them and waved the paper. "It iz all about that… disastrous tournament still. Ah… do not worry, my daughter," she added at Fleur's stricken look—the mere mention of the Tri Wizard Tournament sent shivers down her spine—"Not a mention of you… or of that poor Diggory boy… all about this Harry Potter…"

Gabrielle looked amused now. Their mother did not at all approve of Harry Potter.

Their mother finally noticed Gabrielle's red eyes. "Now Gabrielle," she sighed, "do not make your sister's departure harder, please. Do you have time to eat?" she asked Fleur.

"No, mama," she said quickly. "I've only another few minutes."

"Oh." Her mother blinked. "Very well. Come eat, Gabrielle."

Gabrielle suddenly brightened. "Can I come with you to the Portkey, Fleur?" she asked slyly.

Fleur laughed and gave the girl a hug. "I am afraid not."

Gabrielle pouted, but was stopped from protesting further when their mother shot her a stern look.

"Good bye, mama," she said awkwardly, giving Gabrielle a gentle push towards their mother. "I hope you can visit me soon..." she added hopefully.

For the first time, her mother smiled slightly and kissed her cheek. "Of course we will." She stepped forward and straightened Fleur's robes. "There. Now, off you go… before I start becoming undignified."

Fleur nodded solemnly, knowing that meant her mother wanted her to go before she started crying. She stepped into the center of the room, gave a tiny wave to her family, and envisioned the International Portkey Center in her mind… concentrating on it until her home began to blur into a strange mix of colors…

Within moments, she had successfully apperated to The International Portkey Center, terminal number thirty-six, a mere three minutes before a Portkey was set to take her back to England and her new life.

* * *

**Edited-** Because, as Squashes nices pointed out, Fleur and her family would not have an accent while speaking in French (translated, naturally. :P). Duh, me...


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N- _**Nothing belongs to me!

_**Chapter Two: Arrival.**_

Fleur barely had time to drop her trunk off at the place where she was supposed to be staying, a small building overlooking Diagon Alley, before she was told that she was expected to start work that _day_.

Angry, and feeling very out of place, she hurried down the street to the big, lopsided marble building labled: "Gringott's Bank", getting caught in a short burst of rain in the process.

She was not particularly impressed with the interior. It was less richly decorated than her Academy… or even her mother's home…. and filled with various witches and wizards, who were making deposits, being carted off below the floor to retrieve precious possessions and arguing with the Goblins over one thing or another.

Fleur shivered, hugging herself. It was so cold in here…

She jumped as a rather hulking wizard passed her. That oaf had… he had… _pinched_ her! She stalked after him, wand at the ready.

He turned.

She gave him a cold glare.

"Come on, sweetheart," he said, with a leer. "Don't tell me you're upset."

"I do not consort weeth rabble like you," she hissed. "_Boue sur mes chaussures_."

He laughed. "Ooh. Isn't that always the way. Too good for the world, are you?"

"Rot een 'ell," she snapped, feeling her cheeks start to burn. She whirled and continued through the bank's foyer, mortified.

Brushing a strand of damp, blonde hair out of her face, she glanced about the bustling foyer once more, trying to find out where she should report in.

She noticed a tall, readheaded man had been cornered by another patron by the door. The other man looked quite upset… while the readhead seemed almost amused. Snatches or their conversation floated to her ears as she passed:

"Sir, as I told you before, I do not work in customer relations, therefore I can't help you."

"I won't talk to those unnatural freaks!"

"Sir, I really must ask you to calm dow—"

"Don't tell me to calm down, boy! I'll hex you into next week! Just help…"

She realized, with great interest, that she recognized the readhead. He had caught her eye at the Triwizard tournament… he had come with his mother to cheer on Harry Potter. . . just before the third task. . . She shook of the unpleasant feelings that memory triggered in her. Now was not the time.

He was quite handsome in her eyes. Tall, but not gangly. A cheerful grin and a well-built face. And that hair…

She gave herself a mental slap. She was quite out-of-sorts today. When she got her wand on that no good, rotten, unorganized _âne _that had scheduled her Portkey for today…

"Excuse me, madam." A harsh voice interrupted her thoughts. "You are in need of assistance, perhaps?"

Fleur turned and looked around. There was no one there.

"Ahem," the voice insisted, annoyed now. "If you would direct your attention to the floor?"

After doing so, she caught sight of the short, grey creature staring up at her. A Goblin.

"I 'ave been hired to work 'ere," she explained, without preamble. "I am Fleur Delacour, and…"

"Yes, yes, I know. One of the Triwizard Tournament Champions."

Fleur straightened. "I preefer not to speak of zat, sir."

The Goblin frowned. "As you wish. I am Grap. Director of Internal Finance. You were scheduled to come in today… Bladvak's undersecretary, hm?"Grap looked around for a few seconds and smiled triumphantly. "Weasley!" he barked.

The redheaded man looked up from his argument with the customer and shot the Goblin a small, grateful smile. He said a few words to the man before making his way over to where Fleur and Grap stood.

"Yes, sir?" he said, smiling lopsidedly at the angry Goblin.

The Goblin glared at him for a moment, before saying, "Miss Delacour is here for the assistant secretary to the Head Counter position. I don't have time to show her to her desk. You aren't doing anything." It wasn't a question. "Now, do show the young lady where to go… then go to Bladvak, he'll tell you where they need you downstairs. And do be quick about it! You were five minutes late coming in from Egypt this morning… time is Galleons, Weasley!" Without waiting for an answer, the old Goblin walked off at a dignified pace, checking his watch and shaking his head.

Bill and Fleur both stared after him for a moment, before turning to each other. There was a period of uncomfortable silence before Bill finally said, "Well, I guess that's that… Nice to meet you, Miss Delacour."

He extended his hand and Fleur, after some hesitation, shook it gingerly. "Mr. Weasley," she said formally.

"It's just Bill, ma'am." He shrugged. "There are quite a few 'Mr. Weasleys' running about as it is. It gets rather confusing."

Fleur rose her chin. "Mr. Weasley," she repeated firmly. "I would like to get started eef you please."

He nodded, not seeming the least bit flustered. "Of course. Come this way." He walked towards one of the opulent marble panels, looking over his shoulder to make sure she was following. Fleur quickened her pace as she watched him say a few words to the wall… and pass right through it.

She was able to follow with no trouble.

They wound through a few corridors and down a flight of stairs. The decoration here was rather plain compared to the foyer. Bill only talked to explain to her that this was the shortest route to the paperwork division of the bank, as far as he knew.

They stopped at one of the largest offices. At the knock, a rather handsome, middle-aged man poked his head out. "Yes?" he said, sounding bored.

"I'm here to drop off your help," Bill explained.

"Ah," the man said. "At last. Show her in there, please." He pointed to a small door at the end of the hall. "Bladvak will want to meet her."

Bill nodded. Fleur noticed he shot an odd, almost suspicious look at the man as he turned away. It confused her, but she didn't say anything.

Bill knocked on the door. A few minutes later, a gravely voice directed them to come in.

An elderly-looking Goblin was sitting at a roughly hewn desk in the center of a neatly organized office, going through some papers. Fleur noticed the glint of gold decorating the moldings and desk.

The Goblin, who was presumably Bladvak, looked up, seeming surprised. "Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

"This is your new undersecretary, Miss Fleur Delacour," Bill explained quietly.

"Oh. And who are you?" The creature asked, raising his eyebrows suspiciously.

"I'm Bill Weasley," Bill said. Although he kept his face absolutely straight, his eyes were twinkling. "We met in Egypt last year… and again this morning. "I'm the vault charms-breaker, taking over for Mr. Galas."

"Oh…" the Goblin's eyes lit up in recognition. "Poor man."

Bill winced. "I shall endeavor to be more careful, sir."

"I should certainly hope so, young man," Bladvak said sternly. "Now, Miss Delacour, you may sit down; Mr. Weasley, they could use your help with vault 50. Some foolish woman got out of the cart before her attendant had fully released the charms on the vault."

"Thank you, sir. It was nice meeting you, Miss Delacour." And then, he had slipped out, leaving her completely adrift in the unfamiliar place.

Bladvak immediately set her to work, carefully magically duplicating important parchments, writing notes, checking various documents for errors. It was dull work. Fleur found herself longing for home by her noon break. But she had wanted to come here. To, in some way, repay the debt she felt she owed to these people. After all, it had been the students of Hogwarts that had suffered at the hands of the Dark Lord and his servants. And she'd gotten off with a few bruises.

As she walked slowly up the wide stone steps with an armful of parchments, she vowed herself to stick it out.

Her entrance back into the main foyer was hailed to shouts of: "He's gone mad!" and "Stop him!"

The man she had seen arguing with Bill Weasley earlier was blundering around, wand out, levitating several people in the air and sending blasting curses at the ones trying to stop him.

"They ruined me!" he screamed. "Don't trust these freaks! They'll come after you next!"

He fumbled into Fleur, knocking her to the ground. Her carefully collected parchments flew everywhere.

"_Stupefy_!" yelled several voices at once. The crazed wizard dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

Bill, coming up out of nowhere, quickly cast the full-body bind on the man, before leaving to the Goblins. "Are you all right?" he asked, offering her a hand up.

She waved him off and struggled to her feet before pulling herself up to her full height to glare him. Her steely glare was lessened in impact by the fact that she still had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes. "You are an eediot," she spat, dusting herself off. "You should 'ave asked heem to leave when he first was unbalanced!"

Bill shut his eyes momentarily, then opened them to stare at her frankly. "I'm sorry you were hurt," he said quietly and turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Fleur thoroughly confused.

* * *

Edited- Because I mispelled a spell, and again, because I um, accidentally uploaded the wrong file... (wants to die. hopes that no one saw it)


	3. Chapter 3

**_Disclaimer- _**Nothing belongs to me!

**_A/N- _**I'm cutting to the meat of it, oh impatient one:P

I do think this was waaay too rushed, but I really couldn't think of anything else. Once the fic decides to go one way, it goes that way and there's not much I can do about it… so, tell me if you think this happened too fast. :)

Another thing! This new uploading system sucks. It just does! If this thing has uploaded screwily, it's not my fault, because it has decided that I'm not allowed to preview my documents anymore:cries:

Sorry for the shortness… I shall be better next time…

_**Chapter Three: Lessons.**_

After making sure no irate customers were following him (having your life saved was quite embarrassing, after all), Bill relaxed and started hunting down a place to have dinner. He'd been called to work late that night… and still only had a half-hour to eat before he had to go back. 'Unusual influx of customers today.' 'Time is Galleons' and all the usual Goblin-inspired prods…

He knew Diagon Alley fairly well from his school years, but eating had never really been on his mind… so he was fairly open to most kinds of food.

It had been something of a hard day for him. First, he'd been ten seconds late and had been railed at. Percy was related to the Goblins. He knew it. Then, he'd had to retrieve a very stubborn little boy from the depths of a vault. That would have been nothing serious, except the boy had bitten him. Twice. On the hand. And it hurt.

Then, Miss Delacour had literally run into him… and given him a stern telling-off for being clumsy. She got on his nerves at times. He wanted to be able to say _something_ nice about her… being distant was not in his nature. Plus, she was very attractive, to be sure. More than attractive she was almost perfect…. But she was a Veela. The charm of a Veela was all an illusion. They were deadly creatures… not to be trusted.

However, that didn't mean he should stop trying with her. Most of their human colleagues avoided her on principle… her official nickname was the 'Ice Queen', and that wasn't fair.

Maybe she would never say anything more than 'Would you kindly excuse me?' Her choice. Perhaps he could convince Fred and George to drop by…

Chuckling at this, he ducked into a little place at the end of the row, hoping to get something to eat without having to wait for long. Only a few minutes 'til six…

* * *

Fleur swept out of Bladvak's offices, causing several unfortunate creatures to dive out of her way. A stack of papers— with a tan folder resting precariously at the top—floated sedately in her wake.

She carefully put the papers in their proper places, grabbed the folder, and stormed out of the building. It could get her fired—she didn't care. The place was so… humiliating! Filing papers and writing status reports was no place for an Academy graduate!

Somehow, she managed to avoid running into anyone as she wandered down the alley. Finally, she gave up looking for a restaurant that boasted French food and went into the first place she found.

She ordered coffee, with cream. She hated English coffee… but perhaps the cream would make it halfway tolerable.

As the bartender was getting her drink she noticed something familiar. A bright head of red hair was clearly visible over one of the tall booth-seats. Fleur leaned backwards, trying to see if the person was who she thought it was.

Finally, she got a good view. It was indeed… Bill Weasley.

Her co-worker was sitting in the corner booth, absently stirring a bowl of steaming hot soup with one hand and holding up this morning's edition of the _Daily Prophet _with the other. Whatever he was reading obviously didn't please him… he looked almost angry, truth be told.

Fleur accepted her drink from the bartender and looked around for a place to sit. The whole place was too musty for her tastes. Probably hadn't been aired out in months. And Bill Weasley was sitting in front of the only window in the little place.

Although she would have much rather been alone, she stood up in the corner nearest to his window-facing booth. The light made the place almost tolerable.

Bill finally looked over and noticed her… smiled politely. "Working late too, are you?"

She sipped her drink again, then started stirring it carefully using a spoon, not saying a word.

He sighed, looking vaguely annoyed. "Miss Delacour, may I ask…what did I do?"

"Excuse me?" Fleur looked up, her brows knitting together.

Bill frowned. "You haven't said a civil word to me in the three weeks you've been here. I hate seeing people upset and you obviously are."

"I can't see 'ow it'z any of your business," she said, not looking him in the eyes.

"It'll make you feel better," he offered. "Come on… sit down."

Fleur stiffened and started to snap something back at him, but he just looked so… sincere. She sighed, the exhausting mix of emotions she had been dealing with since she stepped foot on English soil starting to catch up to her. What harm could it do? She was tired. She sat down.

He smiled slightly and went back to his soup.

They sat in companionable silence as they ate (or drank, in her case). Fleur looked over the work she had been assigned, her anger rising by the minute. "Zese people… zey are _dégout_… ze…" she exploded. She waved her hand, frustrated. "I cannot understand zem."

"What's giving you trouble, then?" Bill asked curiously, turning her paper around to face him. She snatched it away.

"Eef I want help, I will ask for it, Mr. Weasley!" she snapped, glaring at him.

"Well then why don't you ask for it?" he asked calmly.

"I can do it myself," she said stormily.

He had her paper again and was holding it up, looking amused. "Then why can't you spell…"

"Giveme zat!"

"No." He smiled at her and used his longer arms to hold her work just out of her reach. "No wonder you're frustrated. Old Bladvak's not being easy on you… he and that secretary of his have been rather swamped for awhile…"

Fleur fell back into her chair, her cheeks flushed pink. She clenched her fingernails into her palm until it hurt, mentally counting to ten. Why wouldn't this man just go _away_? "I cannot understand 'im," she said through clenched teeth. "'E talks too fast and says 'e does not understand me when I ask 'im to expliquez… Why are you laughing at me?"

"I do think not bursting into random French would help," Bill chuckled. "Bladvak can't be bothered to learn anything but English."

"I forget ze words," Fleur admitted reluctantly. "It seems unnatural… to talk in ze Eenglish. Zat's why I got work 'ere… to help me speak better. I plan to travel, rather zen stay in France, when I am older."

"Let me propose a trade then," he suggested, glancing at her thoughtfully. "If you'll start talking to me and stop bloody calling me 'Mr. Weasley', I'll help you with your English. I had to help the new cursebreaker trainees with proper Egyptian accents… if they said something the wrong way it generally got them killed… don't think I'm half bad at it."

She stared at him, somewhat taken aback. "I don't like you," she said bluntly. "You are a rude buffoon."

"I don't like you, either," he said cheerfully. "You think entirely too much of yourself."

"Very well." She gave him an arch look. "But we are to do zis 'ere," she said sternly.

Now he gave her an odd look. "You haven't met my mother, I trust?" Not waiting for her to answer, he picked up his bag and got up. "I should go now. Late all ready… I'll meet you back here tomorrow, then," he said, peaking at his burned and generally battered schedule. "I have to work late again, too."

She inclined her head in agreement and watched him leave. This should prove to be… interesting. Or a complete disaster. Or it could always be both…


	4. Chapter 4

**_Disclaimer- _**Nothing belongs to me!

**_A/Ns- _**The reasons I'm updating so soonare A- I'm going on a trip next week and won't be able to update and B- Three people reviewed and I'm very happy. :)

So, this chapter is dedicated to **Lesa L, cheekychik, **and** Ghost Flame. **Hope you guys enjoy!

_**Chapter Four: Family.**_

"Well, maybe you are just a bad teacher! 'Ave you any bonnes manières?"

"Apparently not… or else I wouldn't be here, now would I? And it's 'manners'. If you're going to insult me, at least try to get it right."

Fleur sat back in her chair; ignoring the strange glances the other patrons were throwing her way and, to her extreme embarrassment, felt herself going slightly pink. It was only ten minutes into this 'lesson', and all ready, she was frustrated.

Bill looked at her, crossing his arms. "Are we done?"

"Oui," she sighed, dropping her gaze back into her water.

"Stop and think before you speak," he advised. "A few seconds aren't going to endanger anyone's life… not in your profession, anyway…" he trailed off when he saw her rapidly cooling expression. "Oh, come on… It's true."

She pursed her lips. "When I get upset, I cannot remember ze words."

"Then take a break." He shrugged. "The Goblins may be slave drivers, but even they don't like seeing their workers have nervous breakdowns."

"Eef I did want to go to prison…." she warned, raising her saucer slightly.

"Okay, okay." He held his hands up, smiling a little. "I'll stop it. But, jokes aside, that's still what you should do."

"Oui…" she said again. "Why 'ave you not left?"

He blinked. "Where was I supposed to go?"

"I was short with you," she admitted.

"Eh…" He waved his hand dismissively. "No problem." He looked up. "I know you're frustrated. But if you don't take that out on me, I'm very sure we'll get along a lot better. Yes?"

"Oui!" she half-snapped.

He smiled a little maliciously. "I didn't hear that, what did you say?"

"Yes!"

"Better." He grinned. "Please don't hurt me?"

Fleur almost considered doing just that, but settled for raising an eyebrow at him. "Are we going to go on?"

"All right." Pulling his spoon from the mincemeat pie he had just finished eating, he held it up. "What is this?"

"A disgusting, food-covered eating instrument," she said warily edging away.

Now he laughed outright. "Yes… but what is the technical name for the disgusting, food-covered eating instrument?"

* * *

Bill arrived to find Number Twelve Grimmauld Place in its usual, happy confusion.

His family had moved there a few weeks ago, so that his mother and father could participate in the Order… and Hermione Granger, Ron's friend, had joined them soon after.

His mother had immediately declared the place 'disgusting', and set everyone to cleaning it.

He came in to find Fred and George hauling a struggling purple robe down the stairs. "Hullo, Bill," George gasped. "Tried to strangle Ron, this thing did."

"Need a hand," Bill asked, keeping far out of the thing's reach.

"Nah," Fred panted. "Mum wanted to see you when you got in."

"Where is she, then?"

"In the kitchen," Fred provided.

"I would proceed with extreme caution, she's a bit out-of-sorts…" George called after him.

Bill understood what he meant a minute later, just after he pushed open the kitchen door.

"I SAID, GET OUT OF THE BLOODY KITCHEN!" a shrill voice cried.

Bill had just enough time to drop to the floor to avoid the frying pan that had been hurled at his head. "Mum!"

"Oh!" His mother looked very red. "You aren't Ron… Bill, dear, would you mind setting the table?"

He nodded, still rather shell-shocked.

A short while later, dinner had been eaten and cleared away, and Fred, George, Ron, Hermione and Ginny sent upstairs after much attempted wheedling and appeals to stay, naturally.

Mundungus Fletcher and Arabella Figg seemed to be on the outs. They had sat as far away from each other as possible and Arabella kept shooting Mundungus angry glares.

As there were quite a few members not able to make the Order meeting that night, Mad-Eye Moody was apparently conducting it. He turned first to Mr. Weasley and got the results of that night's patrolling. Then, he looked at Arabella Figg with his good eye, and turned the magical one to the back of his head to look at Mundungus. "What was all the commotion at Potter's," he growled.

"Well," Mundungus licked his lips. "The fact is…"

"The fact is, he was off drunk again!" Arabella cried, slapping her umbrella on the bench.

Moody gave Mundungus a _look_. "You're relieved of duty until next week. Don't let it happen again, Mundungus."

"Was just havin' a bit of fun, Figgy," Mundungus wheedled. Mrs. Weasley gave him a disgusted look.

Mad-Eye shook his head, looking mildly irritated. He turned to Bill. "And your target?"

"He hasn't made any moves that I can determine," Bill said hesitantly. "Keeps pretty much to himself. I am around him as much as I can without drawing attention to myself, but still…"

"You must watch him carefully," Mad-Eye said gruffly. "If he manages to convince the Goblins to help You-Know-Who… it would mean disaster."

The room was quite until Arthur spoke up.

"This is a dangerous man, son," he said quietly. "Don't let him fool you."

The solemn moment was broken when sudden shouts erupted from outside the door.

"Ow! Let _go_, Fred… no! No! I'm going to _kill_ you! Put that down! Put it down right _now_!"

"Ooo… look at this, everyone… I didn't know you still kept a diary, Gin…ow, stop hitting me!"

"Come on, Fred, give it back to her…"

"I will… maybe. 'Dear Harry, how do I love thee, let me count the ways…'"

"You shut up. That's not what it says! Don't think I won't hex you."

"You wouldn't… hey, get that thing away from my face! George, Ron… a little help?"

"Hey, I wasn't the one stupid enough to touch her stuff."

"Traitor…"

Mrs. Weasley started to get up, but Mr. Weasley stopped her. "Let them be, Molly."

But then, Ginny yelped and cried, "Let go of me, you great big git! Mum… Bill… help!"

Mrs. Weasley looked pleadingly at her son. "If you wouldn't mind, dear? We still have a few things we need to wrap up… and you're not on patrol until next week either, I think."

Bill grimaced. "Not at all. Got to get going, anyway. 'Night, everyone." He bent down to kiss his mother on the cheek.

There was an answering chorus of 'good night's, and Bill headed off to deal with his feuding siblings.

* * *

It was past dark when Fleur finally made it 'home'. Bladvak had been upset about something that day… making many more mistakes for her to correct than usual. She was so tired that she hadn't tried to apparate for fear of splinching herself.

The flat Fleur had managed (with a little of Madame Maxime's help) to rent was actually very nice for the district.

It was small, but not cramped… clean and comfortable. The furniture was a bit too heavy and the décor too dark for her tastes, but that could always be fixed.

She was pleased to find a carefully folded and sealed piece of parchment waiting on her open windowsill when she came in. By the painstakingly drawn flowers below her name and the somewhat sloppy handwriting, she knew it was from her little sister, Gabrielle.

These letters were the highlights of her week. Without bothering to pull off her scarf, she dropped onto her squashy armchair to read it.

_Dear Fleur,_

_You finally wrote to me! Shame on you for making me wait so long. Papa's back from America! He misses you, too. Mama says we might come and visit you before the school term starts… so we maybe in a week or so. I can't wait!_

_This English gentleman of yours sounds very interesting. Papa shall boil him in oil for you if he annoys you too much._

Fleur buried her face in her hands, not want her neighbors to hear her laughing. After a moment, she continued reading.

_I think Mama misses you just as much as Papa and I do, but she doesn't say so. She has taken to wandering about the gardens when I'm supposed to be in bed. Maybe she just needs someone to talk to, yes? She says males are 'insensative' (Did I spell that right?) and boorish most of the time, and advises you to keep away from this man you've met or she'll have to 'talk' to him._

_I say ignore her. Mama's strange, you know that._

_We shall see you soon… be careful._

_Love, _

_Gabrielle._

Fleur stared at the parchment, allowing herself the luxury of thinking vengeful thoughts at her sister for a few seconds. Where that girl came up with these things, she would never know! Since when, she thought darkly, did mentioning a man in her letters constitute being attracted to him?

Sighing, she went to her desk to tuck the letter away with the others and get out supplies to write her sister back.

_But he is rather nice… for a gibbering oaf, that is,_ she thought absently as she settled in at the desk with parchment and quills.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Disclaimer- _**Nothing belongs to me!

**_A/N- _**All right, guys, this is next week's update. I'm giving it to you now because I'm going on vacation on Sunday and not coming back until Saturday. Hopefully, though, I'll come up with some good chapters in the car. :)

**Pobbin: **I'm glad you like it! Hope to see you back when I return. :) Yes, I love Neville, too... butI think one of the underlying themes of his charm is his average looks... having the entire cast hot ruins a fic for me. :P

**cheekychik**- Because you were sweet and reviewed me. :) It means a lot, it really does. Hope you enjoy this one, too.

* * *

_**Chapter Five: Where are We Now?**_

Two days after receiving the letter from her sister, Fleur went back to the little restaurant as she had agreed, still somewhat tired from the night before. And she had thought school was exhausting...

But, from the looks of her tutor, his night had been much, much worse.

One of his habits, she had noticed, was always taking long, even strides. Now, he walked carefully, favoring his left foot, as if the movement pained him.

He also had a nasty-looking red welt on the left side of his temple... which certainly hadn't been there the day before.

"What 'appened to you?" She looked him over as he sat down. "You ran into the street-lamp, no?" she asked teasingly.

He shook his head and smiled. "It was the door of my flat, actually. I'm very clumsy, you know."

"Well, perhaps you shall not be so clumsy in ze future," she said, raising an eyebrow and shifting slightly in her chair. "You look like you 'ave been robbed."

"I can assure you… I wasn't." He looked grimly pleased at this.

Irritated, she dropped the line of questioning, adding 'liar' to the list of characteristics she didn't like about him. Ran into a door _en effet_!

He said next to her, spreading out parchments and books over the table.

The lesson went fairly quickly, as they both had work to do. As the school season came closer and closer, the bank because much busier… as this was the time of year that buying things was a necessity for most parents. The Goblins weren't above fooling about with the new Muggleborn students and their flustered, confused parents, adding to the general chaos.

It was, therefore, the human employees' job to deal with the Muggle parents as much as possible.

Fleur was only half-listening to Bill, as he carefully pronounced a few somewhat confusing English words. He looked very much like he needed to have a good night's rest. Every now and then, he'd stop for a moment to try and swallow a yawn. His voice was still pleasant to listen to, though, deep and even.

She jumped as he brushed her hand. "Tired, are you?" he asked good-naturedly, not seeming annoyed that she wasn't paying attention. "You should get back to the office if you are… Bladvak's out and you could probably get some sleep before he comes back."

Blushing slightly, she shook her head. "No. I'm fine," she said quickly, correcting her posture as she did so.

"If you're sure." He gave her an odd glance and kept reading.

After they had finished, Bill offered to walk with her to the bank. Fleur agreed somewhat absently, making him laugh.

They walked slowly down the busy, cobbled street, neither particularly anxious to go back to work.

As they came up to the steps to the bank, Fleur was nearly bowled over by Bladvak's secretary, who was almost running down the marble steps, looking uncharacteristically flustered. Bill caught her and set her upright, shooting the man's back a nasty glance. "Prat," he muttered. Then, he narrowed his eyes. "Oh... Mum's going to _like_ this one," he said softly.

Fleur saw who he meant a minute later, when a red headed young man strolled out of the bank, looking quite pleased with something or another. He caught sight of Bill and his face fell. "'Lo Bill," he muttered, glancing about furtively. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here," Bill said dryly.

"Well, erh, just be a good big brother and go do something else."

"What are you up to, then?" Bill asked, crossing him arms.

The boy gave him a sour look, then pointed to Bill's eye. "You haven't done anything about that _yet_?" he said incredulously.

Bill drew back a bit, grimacing. "George..."

"Fred."

"Fred... don't. I..."

"Well then why don't you go to the Healer?" Fred was frowning. "Dad told you to last night. Your eye looks like a tomato."

"It's not that bad."

"I'll tell Mum."

That seemed to cower Bill, just a bit. He rolled his eyes. "There's one inside, all right?"

"You'd better go. Or else." Fred made a throat-slitting gesture and smiled rather evilly.

Bill reached forward and messed up Fred's hair, despite his protests. "And you'd better get home before Mum figures out you're gone."

Fred waved his hand. "We have a plan."

"I see," Bill said calmly. "Nothing illegal?"

"I'm hurt," Fred said, throwing his hand dramatically in front of his eyes. He peered out from behind his hand, his gaze fixating on Fleur. "Got a girlfriend at last, have you?" he asked mischievously.

"Sure," Bill said easily. "Her name's Eliza and we just got back from having wild sex on the ratty old couch in my flat."

Fleur couldn't do anything but gape.

"Ah," said Fred, grinning broadly. "You get all the luck."

Fleur felt her face start to grow warm. "Eef you'll excuse me," she snapped, turning away from the pair. Several other patrons had to duck out of the way. Bill caught up with her before she'd gone more than a few feet.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, sounding somewhat embarrassed himself. "Look, I was just kidding around…I shouldn't have."

She whirled around and drew back her hand, feeling very much like slapping him. But when he didn't flinch, she just swung at the air. "You will refrain from 'kidding around' in that manner in the future, yes?"

"Cross my heart," he said swiftly, sounding relieved.

"What?" she said suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

"It means you… oh, never mind… I'll be back with you in a minute. I think making sure my dearest brothers get home before they get themselves into trouble might be prudent."

Fleur laughed a little at that. She remembered this 'Fred' and his brother now. Two of those silly Hogwarts boys that took great pleasure in catcalling her friends from a distance. They'd learned not to bother her, oh yes...

She was particularly skilled at certain male-repelling hexes. She'd had to be.

She looked back at Bill, who had his brother by the arm and shook her head. He was an odd sort of man. Unusual.

"Out of my way, woman," snapped a voice.

Instinctively, Fleur dodged... and narrowly avoided being knocked over by her beloved boss once more. Biting back a curse, she trailed after him down below the foyer... he slammed the door to their offices shut just as she turned the corner. He hadn't seen her. There was a muttered spell heard from inside and the door sealed itself.

Fleur stared at the door, fighting back the urge to just blast it open. Of all the petty, misguided... She slumped against the door. Well, he could just do all of that filing himself...

"Are you sure this is safe, talking here? You remember last time!"

She froze, pressing her ear to the door. She didn't recognize that voice... what in the name of...?

"Of course... no one comes down here. We can finally get down to business."

The secretary.

"The door, you fool," hissed another unfamiliar voice. "Charm it, imbecile."

And then, whatever conversation there might have been was hidden under the impenetrable veil of a spell.

Fleur sighed, glaring up at the gargoyle-shaped door handle. "Soyez cette façon," she snapped, irritated. She picked up her files and swept up to one of the upper levels... and proceeded to convince a young, male employee to give her his office for the afternoon.

* * *

_Soyez cette façon_- Be this way. (Or, I'm fairly sure...)

In case you were wondering, that was meant to be slightly confusing. :P

See ya in a week or so:D


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer-**_ Nothing belongs to me, don't you know?

_**A/N-**_ Hi! Sorry it took me so long, guys, but I am very, very, very busy. I might be a bit slow for the next couple of weeks. I might even have to actually follow that once a week thing. I also had a bit of writer's block, here. I know this may seem a bit slow... but work with me here. I assure you will be very satisfied... soon. (Where's the devil smilie when you need it?)

_**Mystilkal9-**_ Glad you liked it:D

_**morebillfleur-**_ Well, you get more. :)

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_**Chapter Six: Day to Day.**_

"_Fleur_!"

Fleur almost reached for her wand when a small, pale yellow blur smacked into her chest when she answered her door. Fleur laughed ruefully as she realized who it was. She patted Gabrielle's back cautiously, grinning despite herself. "Hello there, little one," she chuckled. "I missed you, too."

Apparently, her mother had decided _not_ to wait until their discussed time to come for a visit, Fleur thought resignedly.

Their mother slipped past the pair into Fleur's flat, looking around rather disapprovingly. "Rather small, is it not, daughter?"

Fleur disengaged Gabrielle's arms from around her waist. "I suppose it is. I do not need much space, though, mama…"

"Of course." Her mother waved her hand elegantly.

"Where's papa?" Fleur asked, frowning as she peered out into the hall, expecting to see her father, bags in hand. "I thought—"

Her mother cut her off swiftly. "He could not come. Business." She nodded at Gabrielle warningly, bringing her finger to her lips. Quiet, now

Fleur sighed inwardly. She had been looking forward to seeing her father… talking with him for the first time since he had come rushing home after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He was like a north wind at times. So unpredictable. She wondered where he had been swept off too this time…

Gabrielle had begun exploring her sister's flat, leaving no drawer unopened. Fleur carefully went around after her bouncy little sister, snatching up and hiding anything that might prove embarrassing. Such as the English Grammar book that Bill Weasley had lent her the other day. Considering the nature of her sister's mind, she did not want to even have to think about explaining _that_. She did not lie particularly well and Gabrielle knew it.

"You're early, mama," Fleur remarked, keeping a close eye on Gabrielle. "I thought that you were not coming until this evening."

"Yes… well…" Madame Delacour sat primly in a cherry-wood chair that had come with the flat. "It was convenient. Do you mind?" Her voice was very stiff.

"Oh, no." Fleur hid a frown. "But I do not know where you can go while I am at work…"

"We will manage," Madame Delacour said firmly.

"Very well." Fleur nodded towards the pitiful remains of her breakfast, which was half-cleared off her little table and surrounded by stacked rolls of parchment she had been trying to sort while eating. "Do you want me to make Gabrielle something to eat?"

"We've eaten, thank you."

There was an awkward silence.

"It is so dark in here!" Gabrielle exclaimed brightly from the sitting room. "How can you stand it?"

"It is also peaceful," Fleur called back. "Leave the drapes alone, please."

"It's too dark," Gabrielle repeated stubbornly.

There was a swishing sound… then Gabrielle began coughing. Fleur and her mother exchanged glances and went walking swiftly into the other room.

"Gabrielle!" Madame Delacour scolded. "Look what you have done! Dust… everywhere!" She turned on Fleur, who felt herself growing slightly pink. She had never opened those particular drapes, as she rarely used the sitting room… usually preferring to work while she ate. "I think we shall be cleaning while you are at work, yes?"

"But… mama, no," Fleur protested. "I will clean it up."

"Nonsense, daughter." Her mother looked very grim. "Yes, that is what we will do."

Fleur was at a loss for words. Her mother _hated_ cleaning of any kind. They had a maid for that… it was just not in the nature of a half-Veela to enjoy housekeeping that didn't involve showing off or entertaining guests. What was going on here? "Mama. You will not clean my flat. It does not need cleaning."

It was indeed very neat and orderly. Of course. Clutter was not in the nature of the Veela, either.

Her mother sighed. "Come now. Gabrielle could use the experience."

Ah. That made more sense…

"Mama, no." Fleur walked back into the kitchen, stopping to clear away the rest of her breakfast, piling toast crusts and a used coffee cup onto one of her silver trays that she had bought in Diagon Alley a few days before.

Her mother sniffed and swept back out into the sitting room, making it clear what she thought of _that_.

Fleur barely stopped herself from slamming the tray down on her counter top. She loved her mother, she really did. But sometimes… she acted entirely irrationally. It was irritating. She smiled, gently setting her teacup and plate on the counter so that she could charm them clean. It was nice to see her, anyway.

Her quite moment was shattered a moment later when her mother's voice… which sounded very stern, reached her ears. "I tell you time and time again, but you never listen! What are you going to tell your sister about _this_, young lady?"

Allowing herself a small, momentary sour look, Fleur composed herself and pushed open the swinging door, hoping that it had been something of the flat's that Gabrielle had broken…

* * *

This was the part of the job that Bill disliked the most.

He liked things straightforward. A clear objective. He liked to face his enemy. Watching the Goblins wasn't so frustrating, either.

Sneaking around Diagon Alley in the wee hours of the morning in a black cloak while trailing his target was not exactly his element.

Harry Potter had joined the Order in London only three days ago. Since then, the Order members had been on high alert… keeping closer watch on their targets and taking turns guarding Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Everyone was on edge, worried that an attack might be made on the famous boy. But Bill wasn't particularly worried. There wasn't any point to it. Harry was as safe as he was going to get and that was all that mattered.

He shifted slightly in his place just down a side alley, trying to find a comfortable spot to rest. He had been up most of the night… his target had been unusually active that day and it was cause for some concern. The target was a quiet, seemingly normal—if rude—man. He wasn't the type to wander the streets at three in the morning… which he had been doing for the past few hours.

Of course, it was probably nothing. Contrary to his mother's insistence, being engaged in slightly… shady business dealings didn't necessarily mean that the man was an enemy agent. Take Mundungus Fletcher for example. Bill stifled a grin. The man was the most disreputable sort of person imaginable… yet, for all his slip-ups, he was genuinely loyal.

But it never hurt to be cautious. As his mother was constantly reminding him…

She hadn't been happy to hear of the scrape he'd gotten into. He's tried to explain that it was nothing. Just a run-in with an overly watchful Muggle policeman that had caught him trailing his target. Naturally, being his mother, she hadn't seen it that way and had fussed over him for most of the evening—much to his brothers' amusement.

He really wished the target would do something very wrong or just go back to bed. By his watch, it was three forty-five. Work was going to be hell.

Diagon Alley, while significantly less crowded than in the daytime hours, a few night owls still meandered about—drunk, most of them. The target was easy to spot among them. He walked confidently, with a spring to his step, even. Of course, he had no idea that anyone one would want to follow him around and therefore was not expecting any trouble.

He was one of the lower Death Eaters… or had been… that had never been caught. He had covered his tracks fairly well and dropped off into nothingness… until now. His actions worried Bill. Goblins were extremely greedy creatures… very open to bribes. The question was, what did Voldemort have to offer them?

There was no doubt in his mind now that this man was some sort of go-between. Dumbledore wasn't often wrong.

But nothing could be done until he was actually caught _doing_ something. He wasn't stupid. He had meeting with the Goblins, but kept them few and far between, not to mention extremely hushed-up. One little mistake on his part, though, and that was one less agent to worry about.

Of course, there would probably be another, after a while. Bill would have to stay in London… because inserting another Order member into Gringotts at that point would extremely suspicious… not to mention a waste of resources.

But that was all right. He rather liked it here.

Throwing his hood back over his head, he ducked out of the alley. The target was walking out of his site… into one of the drinking establishments.

No rest for him tonight, it seemed.

* * *

Edited- Well, you know. I won't do it again. And I will now go work on the actual post...


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer: **_Nothing belongs to me! 

_**A/N-**_ Hi! Sorry it too me so long, everyone. I just got out of orchestra... then it was my birthday... you get the picture. :) So, it' longer than usual. Squashes, I'll send you the next one. I thought you guys had waited long enough...

_**

* * *

**_

_**Shimito Yoritimo-**_ I think that, because apparating is rather unstable, that they might not apparate between countries. :)

_**Squashes-**_ Thank you so much for pointing those out. All fixed now. :D

_**peaches268-**_ I don't like those types of stories either. Hence, yes, I am going slow. I'll try to flesh Bill out more. Thank you for reading and thank you very, very much for the suggestions. :)

_**cheekychik-**_ I'm going to e-mail everyone else the chapter when they actually get together just to see what you do to me...:P

_**WeasleyWife-**_ Ah... you don't like Fleur? I think my original intention towards her was rather malicious, but I understand her a bit better now.

_**Metamorphmagus-Barbie-**_ Interesting pen name you've got there... You know, I'm not going to tell you.:P (Maybe because I'm not really sure but hush! Don't tell anyone. Unlike my other stories, this one was just spontaneous, y'know?)

_**ClosetDweller-**_ Thank you! I hope you enjoy this next chapter.

_**

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**_

_**Chapter Seven: Tea.**_

**_W_**hen Fleur next met Bill for their 'lesson', it was with Gabrielle in tow. Their mother, for reasons she kept to herself, had elected to stay tucked away in Fleur's apartment… so Fleur had offered to take Gabrielle out with her.

She had long ago arranged for some time off of work during her family's visit, but her lessons had become… well, comfortable. Some selfish part of her enjoyed the all too rare conversation. Even if it was with a very strange _man_ with siblings she was thoroughly convinced had some sort of mental illness…

Holding Gabrielle firmly by the hand, she walked slowly around the small restaurant where they normally met. It was a bit more crowded than it normally was, but still offered a relatively private setting.

Relatively being the key word. Two part-Veela girls couldn't go anywhere without attracting the stares of most males within the general vicinity…

It made her angry…. not because they were staring at her, no… she was used to that. She liked it in certain cases. But because of the way Gabrielle clung to her hand like a lifeline, kept her face fixed on whatever lay in front of her instead of around, as Fleur knew she craved to. Her baby sister was worth fifty of the scumbags leering at them. Easily.

Shaking off her momentary lapse in control, Fleur steered her sister towards the table were she normally sat.

Bill was all ready there, as he always was, head buried in the newspaper… papers lying about in a sloppy manner all over the table, with his tea cup's handle just visible underneath a day's report.

She couldn't see his expression, but she felt sure that it would be annoyed. In fact, that paper seemed to be one of the few things that annoyed him.

Besides her, that is.

By way of greeting, she swung her bag of her shoulder and onto the seat opposite him.

He looked up, smiling, questioningly when he caught sight of Gabrielle. "Lovely afternoon, isn't it… who's this, then?"

"Zis is my sister, Gabrielle," Fleur said, giving Gabrielle, who had been trying to hide behind her, a little push forward. "She and my muzzer are staying in London for a few days."

Bill smiled gently at the little girl, offering her his hand. "Nice to meet you, Gabrielle.

Gabrielle smiled shyly, touching the tips of his sun-browned hand with her small, white ones, and then pulling away. She ducked back behind Fleur's skirts a moment later.

After ordering a cup of coffee from the counter, Fleur sank onto the bench.

"Tired?" Bill asked cheerily, keeping his attention on his work.

She gave him a nasty look. "Yes. I have been entertaining my muzzer and sister in addition to my work and I am behind in my work as a result. It is not pleasant."

"Ah." He absently passed her a slice of toast, which she eyed dubiously. "Mothers. Your sister seems rather quiet. It's always the quiet ones…"

Gabrielle had slipped out of sight.

"She iz a handful," Fleur admitted, glancing around to search for her. "She iz never still."

"You didn't have to come," he said, a concerned frown creasing his face. "I don't want to take time away from your family. I'm just the incompetent professor, after all," he added with a lopsided grin.

Fleur narrowed her eyes at him. "You are not a bad teacher."

"Then that tea cup you threw at my head the other day was just for kicks, was it?"

"Zat was an accident," Fleur protested stubbornly, straightening in her seat.

Bill, however, leaned back and crossed his arms. "Ah," he drawled, the grin on his face only broadening. "So what you said beforehand meant 'duck'?"

Actually 'you bastard' was closer to the truth, but Fleur wasn't about to admit _that_. Especially in front of her sister, who she knew full well was sitting just around the booth, listening in. Hoping to hear her sister say something incriminating around her 'English Gentleman', no doubt.

"Exactly," she said crisply, inching her way to the edge of the seat.

He looked at her questioningly… then seemed to understand. Amused, he continued, "I certainly think I _would_ have to duck if I repeated that phrase anywhere."

"Ah, but it would be good exercise, yes?" It was her turn to smirk. She moved quickly, spinning off the bench and grasping her errant sister by the collar of her long robe, eliciting a surprised squeak from the girl. "Now sit down," she said calmly to a disgruntled Gabrielle. "And stay still zis time."

"I get enough exercise," he said wryly, rubbing his wrist, looking thoughtful. There were bruises about his arms again… only much less severe this time. She wondered where on earth he could be getting them. It was beginning to bother her somewhat… but she wouldn't ask.

They dropped into talking about the food and the weather...safe topics around Gabrielle. The Goblins were rather… touchy about what their employees spoke of outside of the bank and very jealously guarded the right to be so.

Gabrielle seemed to enjoy the visit, however. Children got entertainment from the strangest things, Fleur thought bemusedly, as she watched Gabrielle poke at her food and look over at Bill curiously every few minutes. But she never spoke beyond a simple 'yes' or 'no'.

He noticed her curiosity and took it in stride, taking care in his conversation.

Before long, it was time for him to go.

When he said goodbye, he took her hand and kissed it, a hint of mischief in his eyes. She pulled it away, giving him a mock-stern look… but found herself blushing.

"'Ave an uneventful day," she said lightly, eyeing his wrists.

If he noticed, he gave no sign. "I will; and if one of those little so-called human monsters bites me again, I'll save you a tooth."

She laughed, but quickly tried to hide the fact by smothering it in her napkin.

Gabrielle watched the tall man stride out of site down the cobbled street, her eyes thoughtful. "Do you like him?" she asked, dropping into French once more…. she was not comfortable speaking English.

"He's polite enough. Annoying, really," Fleur said a little too quickly. When her sister got started on one topic, there really was no stopoing her. And this was certainly a topic that Fleur did _not_ want to discuss in any detail with her eight year-old sister.

"But you like him?" Gabrielle pushed, leaning forward, her eyes shining.

"I suppose. As a friend, dearest little one."

"Of course," said Gabrielle calmly. But her eyes were still shining.

"Do stop it," snapped Fleur, irritated.

"Stop what?" Gabrielle asked innocently.

"That… thing you do. With the eyes. Stop it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Gabrielle smiled calmly.

"Yes you do." Fleur eyed her sister suspiciously. Then shook her head. "Gabrielle?" she said cautiously.

"Yes?" Gabrielle answered, admirably choosing to swallow her mouthful of food first.

"Where did papa go, Gabrielle?" Fleur said quietly. "Mama won't tell me." She felt wrong, going behind her mother's back. But if she was just going to shush her loudly whenever she tried to ask…

Gabrielle bit her lip. "I'm not really sure," she admitted. "But they fought something awful about it, he and mama did. I think she was worried about him," she added sadly.

"Don't you trouble yourself about it," Fleur soothed, reaching out to smooth her sister's hair. "I'm sure papa was just going on another trip to America. You know how mama hates it when he goes there. She's convinced he'll be robbed or something."

"I guess so." Gabrielle shrugged, pushing her food around her plate absently.

"You guess so?" Fleur sighed. "But you don't think so?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "Mama never yelled before."

"Mama gets upset overly the silliest things, Gabrielle." Fleur felt strangely ill.

"Papa's not a silly thing," Gabrielle said stubbornly, putting her glass of water down just a bit too hard. Clear drops splashed over the brim, some hitting Fleur's outstretched fingertips.

Fleur sighed. "I'll send Papa an Owl, yes? We'll see where's he's gone and when he is coming home…. perhaps we can convince him to return a little sooner."

* * *

Bill, like most people occasionally had trouble sleeping. Tonight was one of those nights… the ones were even the shadows seem to hum and throb.

He didn't know why it was. He'd had a fairly normal day, actually…

After pacing about in his room for a bit, he decided just to go downstairs. Out of habit, he was extra quiet when passing the floors where the little ones had slept. His brothers were fairly heavy sleepers… but Ginny wasn't. For her, he had learned to be quiet.

But there was no need now. They'd seen them off to Hogwarts the morning before… and now the house was quiet again… except for in the basement, where various patrollers checked in at all hours of the night.

To his surprise, it wasn't Tonks or Mad Eye that was up in the kitchen, it was his mother.

She was bustling about… rather busily, apparently getting a head start on breakfast. A steaming cup of tea was resting on the table. She looked up, startled by his sudden appearance.

"What are you doing up?" she asked softly, motioning him towards a chair.

"Couldn't sleep," he said, shrugging and sitting down…. rather carefully, in case the twins had left any surprises before they left.

"You too, ah?" She got out another teacup, not bothering to ask if he wanted any or not. "Your father's on duty tonight," she said simply, as if this explained everything.

"I know."

Putting a steaming cup in front of him (she had magically heated the water, being in a hurry) Mrs. Weasley sat down herself. "Silly man. Always taking the graveyard shifts because he thinks I'll be asleep and worry less."

Bill smiled. "Sounds like him," he said noncommittally.

"Everyone's gone now," Mrs. Weasley sighed, glancing about the empty kitchen. "I miss the children. Even if it does mean all of my dinner actually makes it to the table and I can sit down without fear of the chair trying to eat me!"

"I worry about the boys sometimes," he admitted, stirring his tea absently. "Ginny, too. Typical Gryffidors, they are."

His mother gave him a strange look and shook her head. "I worry about all of you. You're all just as stupid as your father. No common sense whatsoever." She shook her head again, rather fondly, he thought.

"Oh, I think we do have _some_," he laughed. "We just choose to ignore it."

That earned him a glare. "Mhhm." She took a sip of her tea. "I talked to the twins yesterday," she said in a strange tone that instantly put Bill on guard.

"I should hope you did," he said wryly.

She gave him a quelling look. "They said they were worried about you."

Bill choked on his tea, burying his face in a napkin quickly to avoid spitting it out. "What?" he coughed.

"Said they saw you going around with a questionable sort of girl.

He narrowed his eyes. "I have no idea where they got that, mum. I was talking with a co-worker, that was it."

She took a sip of her tea, looking at him over the rim of the cup. "I see. A co-worker who happens to be that Veela girl from the Tournament?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Bill… to date a girl like _that_…"

"A girl like _what_?" Bill asked wearily. "And I'm not dating her, mum."

"Of course, dear," she said absently. "I remember your father saying the exact same thing to his mother about me after that night we were put in detention for being out of bed together." She chuckled.

"Mum…" he said warningly. "Trust me on this, all right? I'm still trying to get the woman into just one conversation beyond the scope of 'good day' were she doesn't threaten me with bodily harm… or, at least that's what I think she's doing…"

"Veelas are tricky creatures." Another sip. "Very tricky."

"She not a full Veela," he corrected, sighing. "Though, I do think she _acts_ like one often enough."

"Then why pay so much attention to her?" his mother asked shrewdly. She was starting to worry him now. He shrugged; trying to put voice to something he didn't really understand himself.

"I feel sorry for her," he said finally. "Seems like a terrible way to go through life...always having people judge your personality and habits with one look at your face."

"Well, just don't you take feeling sorry for her too far. I remember all those… kittens and sparrows and… bullfrogs you and Charlie used to bring home _all_ the time when you were little…." She shuddered. "Found a bloody _snake_ in my _laundry_ once! And you insisted it would be _warmer_ in there…"

Bill winced. "That was rather memorable."

"Indeed." Mrs. Weasley scowled, then sighed. "You would tell me if there was anything going on, wouldn't you dear?"

"Yes, mum," he said sincerely. "But when there is anything going on, generally I'm the last to know about it…"

* * *

Edit- Forgot the line-break. I can't have three measly astradisks... why?


	8. Chapter 8

**_Disclaimer- _**Nothing belongs to me!

**_A/N- _**Well, sorry again. My muse has been tardy and this chapter had to undergo a few masive re-writes and ended up being twice as long as it was supposed to be...plus, I still don't like it. :scowls:

On the plus side, HBP has given me enough bunnies for this story to last awhile. I might even go through HBP with this if you guys aren't very sick of me by then. :P

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_**Chapter Eight: Liberties Once Taken…**_

Fleur could tell from the moment she woke up that today would not be a good day. It was grey and cold outside… looked like rain.

Her mother was all ready up and dressed, sipping coffee and reading a leather-covered book… that she quickly shut and slid off the table and into the folds of her robes when she caught sight of her daughter.

"Honestly, mama." Fleur rolled her eyes and started to go about making her own breakfast. Her mother blushed delicately, but said nothing. Fleur noticed her folding her robes even more tightly around the book and rolled her eyes. "Are you reading a romance novel?" she teased, attempting to lighten the mood. There was nothing her mother hated more than those 'unrelenting sob-fests'.

Or, so she claimed. Fleur and Gabrielle were convinced she secretly enjoyed the things.

"Have you gotten any letters?" Fleur asked as she charmed her milk to pour itself while she drank her own coffee, trying to sound casual. She sat down across from her mother, twisting a napkin between her fingers…a habit she had thought long since broken.

"Letters? Whoever from?" her mother asked tensely. "You know my friends don't know this address, daughter."

"From papa," Fleur said recklessly. "I want to talk to him, but my Owls keep getting send back… I thought you would surely know…"

"He's off. Off on some crazy thing," Madame Delacour said simply. "You know him." She went back to sipping her coffee, studying the tablecloth with interest in-between swallows.

"Do I?" Fleur snapped, flinging her napkin on the table and glaring fiercely at nothing in particular. That seemed to be a rule when they fought. Never an honest look between them. All lies. She hated her mother for that. This wasn't the time for games.

"Perhaps more than I," her mother said softly, and fell silent.

Angry, Fleur got up and snatched up her bag and cloak. She forced her normal farewell, well aware of Gabrielle listening at the sitting-room doorway.

"You don't need to know, Fleur," her mother whispered to her back. "Not now. Not when you're doing so well here… I can't throw my troubles off on you and Gabrielle. You'll understand someday."

Fleur sighed. Confounded woman. "They're _our_ troubles, mama…"

Her mother laughed. A soft sound…. half a sob. "You'll understand. When you get a husband, maybe."

Fleur smiled slightly and looked over her shoulder. "Don't start that," she said, fighting a laugh at her mother's customary evasion. "All right," she sighed. "Keep your secrets, mama. But I'll strangle papa for worrying us, mind. Gabrielle, come out and get some breakfast," she added swiftly, and was gratified to hear her sister mumble something dejectedly.

Her mother, distracted by her younger daughter, waved to Fleur and marched into the sitting room, delicate china cup clenched tightly in one hand.

Fleur shook her head, shutting the door as she went out.

Evasion tactics.

Her day at work did not go much better. Bladvak's secretary, her superior, had brought his daughter along to work. His daughter was apparently visiting from Egypt, where she had some sort of job connecting with the Bank. The girl was only a year or so younger than Fleur, but she still considered her a child.

She was nice enough… and kept mostly out of everyone's way at first. But, a few minutes before they were to go home for the night, she began chatting with her father in earnest. The man promptly ordered Fleur to keep the girl company for 'just a few minutes' while he attended to her demand.

Naturally, she wanted to talk. Which Fleur did not, so the conversation was rather one-sided. She didn't seem to mind…

"I have quite a bit of fun at it… it's dangerous but so… thrilling, you know?" she said, after describing her profession to boring detail.

"Mmmh." Fleur picked up the last few rolls of parchment to take down to the records office. She then charmed them to follow her around while she tidied the offices.

The girl chattered on, swinging her booted feet off the desk. "Fleur Delacour is your name, right?" she asked curiously.

Fleur nodded, wincing. She almost hoped that people had given up asking her about that disastrous tournament…

But what she heard next was certainly not what she expected.

"I knew a bloke in Cairo named Delacour… charm instructor, I think. Nice man." She smiled. "Know anyone in Egypt, Miss?"

Fleur spun around, now listening with her full attention. Her charm on the parchments was dropped and they scattered to the floor around her feet. "You did?" she asked, bending over to pick up her work while still looking at the girl.

"Sure." The girl shrugged. "No French accent, though. Weird." She shook her head. "Doesn't seem like it would be a very popular name."

"Sam!"

The secretary had returned, but Fleur now felt the urge to flay him for hurrying.

"Come, dear," he said. "I've found your Weasley for you…"

Fleur turned slowly, eyes growing wide. She knew Bill, did she, this little girl?

She did indeed. Fleur could see the two of them meeting across the lobby, both smiling and talking in a very sincere way at each other. Fleur drifted over, half out of the desire to quiz the girl more, half out of a very strange need to hear what they were saying.

But, all she did was stand just at the top of the staircase leading down into the staff access to the vaults. Just looking.

She stared at the two, arms crossed over the parchment rolls, clutching them to her chest, feeling suddenly very cold. But there was no room for gawking here… people jostled her and pushed her, urging her to move on so that they could get on with their work.

After sparing a moment to glare at a few of her co-workers, Fleur marched all the way down the stairs, her heels clicking rhythmically on the marble.

She marched straight on to the records office and deposited the parchment there… leaving the poor, new clerk nearly in tears after she accidentally misplaced a file.

On her way out, she ran into Bill. It was by the benches lining the walls by the door… he was absentmindedly whistling a tune she didn't recognize, which annoyed her even more.

"Hey," he managed sleepily. "Rough day for you, is it? Missed you at lunch." She wasn't quite mad enough to miss the half-faded bruise on his palm as he waved.

Why was he talking to her? Why was he so calm? Why wouldn't he just go away?

"Fleur?" He gave her an odd look. "Are all right?"

"Non!" she snapped. "I am beezy… very much so! You must go away and attend to your own work, yes?"

"Fleur," he said calmly, speaking slowly, "you got off work ten minutes ago. So did I. I just asked if you wanted me to walk home with you…"

"You are perhaps implying zat I cannot walk myself home!" she burst out, her eyes blazing with quite a bit more than righteous fury.

"When did I say that?" he asked, folding his arms. He didn't look upset in the least… he looked confused. Good. If he'd looked even slightly amused, she would have slapped him.

"You didn't," she admitted sourly. "But no, zank you, _monsieur_."

He frowned at her and shook his head. "Right then," he said. "Goodnight. See you tomorrow."

"Perhaps," she muttered.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked tentatively. "Your mother giving you trouble?"

"No," she said stiffly, no longer able to look at him.

Evasion tactics.

In later years, she was extremely thankful that she hadn't known better than to try evasion tactics on a Weasley.

Bill looked from her to the doorway and back again, his eyes narrowing. "Oh for…" he muttered. Now he sounded even more confused.

"Just _soyez silencieux_!" she snapped, starting to turn away. He caught her around the waist mid-turn, swung her to face him, and did something very bizarre indeed.

He kissed her. And she kissed him back. Well, until the more logical part of her brain took over and she unsuccessfully attempted to shove him back.

He let her go carefully, looking rather surprised himself.

"Why… what…why did you do zat?" she gasped. She realized that they were still inches apart and took a step back.

Oddly, he was blushing as well… but not nearly as furiously as she.

"You told me to shut up… I wanted you to be quiet. It seemed like the best solution. Don't you agree?" But he sounded very unsure of himself. Quite a rarity, that.

"No!" she cried, snatching up a cloak from the benches. "Go away from me, or I will go out into the Muggle street and scream." With that, she flung open the big, glass-paneled doors to the Bank and set off down the street at a brisk pace.

She could hear the heavy tread of his boots behind her, but ignored him until she had reached her building… chiding herself…and cursing him… for forgetting that she could have just _apparated_…

"Fleur?" he called.

"Go away," she said again, turning to glare at him.

"I would," he said, "but I think I'd look rather silly walking down the street in a woman's cloak, don't you think?" he sad wryly, holding out her cloak. "And it's cold."

She resisted the temptation to throw his at him, but suspected she had scratched his hand when she handed it over nonetheless.

But she wasn't to be rid of him so easily. Bill followed her into her building (much to the caretaker's amusement) and up the first flight of stairs into her hallway. She heard more than a few muttered profanities during the whole thing.

Somehow, he was still there when she next turned around.

"You…you…" she sputtered, quite at loss for words. She turned and ran down the hall and tried to yank open her door. It was locked. Not in the mood to pound on the door, she started digging in her pockets for either her wand or her keys.

Neither were there.

"Where…" she started, but turned to find Bill offering her keys to her.

"You dropped these," he said quietly.

She snatched them from his hand and fumbled with the door until it finally opened…and hurried in without closing the door. He followed.

Gabrielle was sprawled out on the floor, dolls marching around her like bizarre midgets. She looked up, smiling as Fleur stomped in, Bill close at her heels.

Fleur didn't notice her mother at first… she was tucked into an armchair by the window, a book lying open in her lap. She looked up upon their entrance, obviously annoyed.

Fleur stopped at the door to her bedroom and whirled around to face Bill, breathing hard. "I was wrong about you," she said coldly, with as much composure as she could muster. "You're just like all the others."

"You want me to go, then?" he asked bluntly. "I am never going to understand…" He ran his fingers through his hair. "Are you like this to everyone on principal? Is that it?"

"No…I…" The bedroom door slammed.

Gabrielle looked from the door to Bill and back again, caught the guilty expression on Bill's face, and looked at her mother.

Then she started to laugh. She collapsed onto Fleur's sofa and buried her face in a pillow. Her shoulders shook.

Madame Delacour shook her head, gave Bill an apologetic look and snapped something rapid in French at her younger daughter. Gabrielle lifted her head, her expression hard to catch through the hair falling in front of her eyes.

"I'm going to pay for that, aren't I?" Bill asked dully, shifting his bag and cloak uncomfortably.

"Yes," Gabrielle said in the same tone. "You are. But it was marvelous, extrêmement drôle, no?" Her eyes shone mischievously.

He sighed and gave her a lopsided smile. "I'm afraid I can't understand much in the French language besides insults, Miss Gabrielle."

Gabrielle laughed sweetly. "'Ow are you so certain it was not an insult?"

He reached forward to muss her hair, but thought better of it. "I think I'd better be going," he said quietly.

"Yes," sighed Madame Delacour wearily. "I think you should. I'll take care of her, monsieur."

Bill flung his cloak over his shoulder, nodded, bowed, and went out, his manner thoroughly confused.

"Bed, Gabrielle," her mother snapped, the instant the door had closed.

"But mama!" Gabrielle said pleadingly. "Please let me stay up… just another five minutes?"

"No." Madame Delacour pointed to the sitting room, where she and Gabrielle slept. A curtain had been affixed in front of the door to make it seem more like a bedroom.

"Three minutes, mama?" Gabrielle made her eyes as wide as possible and pouted.

"I need to talk to your sister alone," her mother said firmly.

"Please?" Gabrielle made one final try.

"Pick your toys up, Gabrielle… don't argue with me any more." The tone of her voice indicated that there would be severe punishments for further pestering on the part of her daughter.

She watched Gabrielle from the threshold to the kitchen, hands on hips, until Gabrielle had finished picking up and came over to say goodnight.

"No listening at the wall." She kissed the girl on the cheek. "Off with you now."

Gabrielle went… but not without a resentful look or two in her mother's direction as she did so.

Madame Delacour sighed, composing himself before walking straight into her daughter's bedroom without knocking, surveying everything with critical look, and settling her gaze on her daughter, who sat at the small vanity in the corner.

She was attacking her hair with the comb, pulling and yanking at it painfully. The expression on her face was one of concentrated anger.

Madame Delacour sighed and quickly walked over and took the comb gently from Fleur's hands. "If you would let me?" she suggested. "I don't want you to go bald, daughter. Your hair is so pretty."

To her credit, Fleur just sighed and dropped her hands into her lap as her mother began carefully working through her damp hair.

One stroke.

"You gave us quite a show tonight, daughter," her mother said calmly, non-accusingly.

Two strokes. Pearly comb through silver hair. Harmony reigned there, at least.

"I'm sorry," Fleur said simply, wearily. "I was upset."

Three strokes, four strokes. "So I gathered."

"Is that all you have to say?" She sounded surprised.

Her mother had finished had finished combing her formerly un-cooperative hair and now began to gather it into a thick braid, reaching for one of the combs to secure it. "No. You know me better. You were making a fool of yourself in front of him for no reason, dearest daughter," her mother said, her voice softening considerably. "Are you afraid?"

"Afraid? Of _him_? Bah!" Fleur flung herself away from her mother and turned away, facing her window. The hair comb fell to the dressing table, forgotten. Fleur's hair untwisted and fell loosely across her shoulders.

"You never had trouble before," Madame Delacour offered. "You send off the more unsuitable specimens that have flocked around you since you were a wee thing like mice from a cat. Why does this one have such an effect on you?"

Fleur shook her head. "He doesn't _have_ an effect on me."

"I think he does. You are normally so calm. I've never seen you so flustered because a man shows attraction to you."

"That's not attraction… it's not affection, Mama," Fleur protested stubbornly. "I don't think he's… he's just trying to…." She broke of, throwing up her hands in frustration. The sheer curtains fluttered about her head like a wedding veil, blown by the slight wind of the heating charms that swept through ever so often.

"Men…" Her mother paused, then sighed. "They do not show their interests and affections like we do. They tease, they torment… sometimes they will follow you about like a pathetic dog."

"I know all of this. I've dealt with every type of man there is…and sent them all away!" Fleur said archly, whirling to face her mother once more. "Not many can be trusted and _this_ certainly isn't one of those that can!"

"Just for the sake of argument, what has the poor man done to you to make you so angry?" her mother asked quietly, gracefully smoothing her skirts as she sat down on the bed.

"He won't leave me alone," Fleur growled, her fists clenching.

"How dare he." Her mother smiled at her. "Fleur, daughter, please. I'm not saying to let the man in, I only suggest you leave the option open. I do suspect all he really wants for now is to see you lighten up, just a bit." She drew her daughter to sit next to her, taking her hand. "Must you shut everyone out?"

Not waiting for her daughter to answer, she got up and started towards the door. "Think on that, if you would. For an hour… that's all I ask. Then you need some rest. You're starting to get dark circles around your eyes! It's quite unseemly."

After her mother had left, Fleur collapsed into her bed, thinking she was tired. But it would be well past midnight before she stopped thinking of her mother's words long enough to close her eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

I am so sorry! This was the absolute chapter from Hell. I erased the whole thing three times. I thought you guys'd rather have a halfway decent chapter than what this originally was. I hope this makes up for the long wait... this is the longest chapter I've ever written, and I still don't like it at all. But there's no point messing with it anymore... I don't think I can do much more with it. 

Thank you to all my readers... oh, and to the person who was confused about Fleur's reasonings for being angry at Bill, yes it was because she was jealous. The other thing was just what she told her mother. ;)

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**_ChapterNine: The Lady doth Protest._**

It was here. After weeks of guessing games and mysterious hints and asides, Madame Delacour was about to do something that would top her entire visit to London.

She was going to go home. No explanations.

Fleur was mildly furious. Not only was her mother leaving her with no clue as to why she had suddenly dropped in for a visit sans her father, but was now going to have to deal with Bill Weasley all by herself.

Not that she couldn't handle that, of course.

She was, however, less than happy about what her mother was planning on next.

They argued back and forth as Fleur helped her mother pack, folding clothes neatly before her mother shrunk them and put them in a small, white case that she called her 'trunk'. Fleur sat on one edge of the bed and her mother on the other.

She shrunk a neatly folded robe and handed it to her mother. "What about Gabrielle, Mama? Whatever Papa may have done… you can't make her pay for it. She needs you."

"I know," her mother sighed reluctantly. "But she is a very smart little girl. She can deal with a few weeks without me." Fleur opened her mouth to protest, but her mother cut her off. "And if this is not settled after that, I will come back and not speak another word of it." Her voice was low and sad.

Fleur touched her mother's hand. "It would help a great deal if you would just tell me what the trouble is… I could talk to him…"

"No!" Her mother yanked her hand away. "No," she said, less forcefully. "My problem, remember? I don't want you to get hurt."

"I am hurt," Fleur snapped, irritated. "And I'm not a child, Mama. Stop treating me like one."

"I don't think it would help anything in your father's eyes if I brought either of you girls into this," said her mother sternly. "Although I think Gabrielle already knows more than she should. I'm trying to protect you, Fleur," she said softly. "At least try to understand."

Fleur took a step away from her mother and crossed her arms. "Two weeks. In two weeks, you'll stop chasing after Papa and take care of Gabrielle."

Her mother nodded, raising a pale eyebrow.

"Why don't you think you'll find him by then, Mama? He has the memory of a slapped puppy at the very best of times!"

Her mother actually laughed. "I know. Perhaps I am merely overreacting. But, somehow…" She sighed again. "It's just different now."

Fleur blinked. "Yes Mama." She was going to Owl her father the moment her mother was safely off. This was getting ridiculous. Her father most likely had no idea that anything was still wrong and had gone off on a business trip again…

She wordlessly folded another of her mother's robes, observing her curiously as she expertly twisted the silky length into a neat roll before handing it to her mother. Her mother took it after a moment, then pointed her wand at it to shrink it…

They both screamed as the garment suddenly burst into flames.

"Mama!" Fleur shrieked. "Get it off of the bed!"—And vaulted over the bed to get her wand, which she had foolishly left on the nightstand. She spun the instant her fingertips had grasped the smooth wood and yelled the first spell to come into her head.

Moments later, the fire was reduced to a damp pile of ashes on the carpet

Her mother stared at her for a second before looking mournfully down at her trunk.

"Mother," Fleur hissed after taking several calming breaths. "What was that?"

"Incendio, daughter," answered her mother absently, staring down at the burnt garment. "I was thinking of how your father gave that nightdress to me and how very much I would like to see it burn…"

Fleur gasped. But, just as she was about to say something she most likely would have regretted, she noticed Gabrielle standing in the doorway, a shocked look on her face. "I'm not apparating with her," she said bluntly.

Madame Delacour's eyebrows rose. She pursed her lips at her younger daughter, but said nothing to her.

Fleur frowned at her mother's back. "You might want to walk to the Portkey. It's only a few streets over," she said stiffly. "Come, Gabrielle, I think Mama needs to be left alone."

She steered the younger girl out, shutting the door a bit harder than was necessary.

Gabrielle seized her robes the instant the door had closed. "I don't want to go home," she whined, clutching at her sister.

Fleur detangled Gabrielle's hands from the fabric of her robes. "So you don't wish to back to school? See your friends?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "I don't want to go back with her," she staged-whispered, shooting the door a nasty glance. "She's…"

"Oh, Gabrielle," Fleur said, exasperated. "Don't do that. It's not seemly."

"You do it," Gabrielle protested, pouting.

Fleur gently pushed at Gabrielle's face. "Arrange your lip into a human expression, please. And yes, I do it. But not in a disrespectful manner and I've earned the right. You've got a ways to go yet. She's our mother and you will respect her, clear?"

Gabrielle nodded. To her credit, she managed to keep most of the surliness she must have been feeling out of the gesture.

"Now," Fleur gave her push towards her sitting room. "Are you finished packing?"

Gabrielle nodded, her expression mirroring her mother's when she was deep in thought. "She planning on leaving me with Maria," she informed Fleur. Maria was the latest in Gabrielle's long line of private tutors.

Fleur nodded, sitting stiffly down on her couch. "And you're not happy about this?"

Gabrielle shook her head, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, her back to her sister. "I want to go to school… but I don't want her to leave me."

"It'll only be for a little while," Fleur said softly, rubbing her sister's back, pulling at her shoulders to force her to stop slumping.

"I know." Gabrielle sounded resigned. "I only wish…" She shrugged. "I guess, I wish…" She bit her lip. "I only wish I knew what was wrong with her. Do you think I did something?" she said suddenly, anxiously. "Do you think they fought about me…? Maybe…"

"Maybe you're making up stories, little one," Fleur said firmly. "Don't always assume the worst in everything."

Gabrielle turned around, resting back on her elbows. "I heard little bits and pieces," she said reluctantly. "About you and me. Papa said they shouldn't let you run wild in a war zone and Mama said that it would be just as dangerous when I went to school and what on earth did he mean 'war zone'? Then they really started screaming… and then Maria made me go to my room. I tried to sneak out and listen in… but someone had put a silencing charm on the dining room."

Fleur gave her sister a look. "You really need to stop doing that."

Gabrielle made a face at her.

"Gabrielle…" Fleur said warningly. But her body seemed to have gone numb. Her father worried about her sometimes, she knew, but he was proud of her. He trusted her. Didn't he? What Gabrielle had heard seemed almost the opposite of her parents' typical arguments. Usually it was her father on the defensive side of things. What had he done now?

After a short while, her mother had gotten over her melancholy state and floated into the sitting room, her trunk trailing behind her of its own accord. Her slightly wet hair had been combed and her robes changed. Without a word, she flicked her wand and Gabrielle's little bag swarmed after her.

She was still angry, then.

_Good. Let her be angry_, Fleur thought coldly.

Veela women… even half-Veela women were bound to have conflict. A full Veela had temper of a dragon deprived of its eggs… and human blood did little to dilute this trait. As a result, disagreements in the Delacour household were a serious thing. However, the calm nature of Fleur's father did work wonders… when he was home, of course. When he wasn't, they resorted to completely ignoring each other during their infrequent spats.

Although a small part of her nagged at her to at least pretend to be civil to her mother before she left, she ignored the impulse.

She never saw her mother throw a mournful look in her direction. She never saw her reach out to touch her arm half a dozen times only to pull back at the last moment.

In the end, they both put on emotionless faces and bid each other a stiff farewell… Gabrielle rolled her eyes and shot them both annoyed glares.

Fleur walked her family down the stairs. It was still early morning…only half-past six, in fact.

She stood in front of the old building, looking both ways down the street. "Write to me, Gabrielle," she said softly, kissing her sister on top of the head. Gabrielle nodded, throwing her arms around Fleur's waist.

"Come home for Christmas?" she asked hopefully.

Fleur frowned. "I'm not sure I have Christmas off, little one," she admitted. "But we'll see."

Gabrielle started to look resentful again. Madame Delacour gave her a stern look and the pout immediately vanished.

Taking her daughter by the hand, and waving half-heartedly with the other, her mother walked away down the cobbled street, soon fading from sight into the early-morning fog.

Fleur stood still for a moment, hugging herself against the chill. "Je vous souhaite un bon voyage, Maman," she whispered, once she was sure her mother couldn't hear her. Sighing almost inaudibly, she turned and started to go back up the stairs. She hadn't made it very far, however, before she caught sight of something familiar. She stopped, crossed her arms and waited.

* * *

Although England certainly had its perks, Bill had to admit, he missed Egypt. He missed having just the tiniest bit of danger and fun in everything that he did. He missed the heat, oddly enough, the heat and the clear, cloudless sky. He missed the bumps and bruises that didn't remind him that they all might be dead soon every time he looked at them.

Here, danger was just…danger. Real, living breathing danger. There was a grim, cold feeling over everything; not the accomplished little thrill curse breaking gave him.

Of course, it was like that everywhere now.

And he was fighting to get things back to the way they had been. Fighting to have a day when he could sleep peacefully without getting big brotherly pangs and going to check the odd clock that his mother had brought from the Burrow. Or being able to go up to bed while his father was still at work. It had become a habit between him and his mother to wait up for his father. Drinking tea and talking about odd things. He just wanted to see her really laugh again.

And if it took getting fired to do it, then so be it. He knew the Goblins were going to do a sight more than just fire him if they caught him down here… but it was best just to think of one thing at a time. After all, the thought of being boiled alive would ruin anyone's concentration.

He was currently sneaking about one of the lowest levels of the Goblin's personal stores. Here they kept their own personal gold, their more important customer's records—along with their own.

The Order had its doubts about certain Goblin's current alliances. The best way to tell one way or the other was to check their accounts… what was coming in, what was coming out. As Bill was the only Order member able to get at these secret vaults without being grabbed and questioned the moment he left public domain, he was given this task.

Gold—and the acquisition of more of it—was the only thing that mattered to the Goblins. They were reasonably easy to bribe. Some wouldn't blink at using their vast resources in many different countries to help a Death Eater cause trouble or hide from the Aurors, if need be. If they openly switched alliances, the results would be absolutely disastrous.

Goblins were also suspicious of everyone, including their own kind, so he doubted that he was going to able to find everything he needed here. Most of the personal records were likely fakes.

Bill smiled evilly. He was going to be getting the records of a certain family by the name of 'Malfoy'. If only for the fun of it.

It was dank and almost lightless on this level… making it rather hard to see where he was going. He didn't dare risk a light. Although he had timed his little trip down here very carefully, during the switch in the outermost guards, they liked to be unpredictable and pop in to have a look at the gold at the most inopportune moments.

After clearing the corridor and creeping across the vault room (feeling distinctly exposed and not liking it at all) he reached his target.

It was a small door, metal by the feel of it. There was a Muggle-looking combination lock on one end. This was a sham, of course. It merely provided another means for trapping any intruders, unlikely though they may be at this level. Bill almost laughed after doing a standard check of the handle alone.

"Not taking any chances, now are we?" he chuckled softly. This was going to be fun, after all.

Keeping roughly ten feet from the door, he began to perform some of the simpler counter-jinxes… it was like unraveling a delicate weaving. Pull on certain threads, and it comes apart smoothly and neatly. If you weren't careful, you were left with a hopelessly tangled mess. And he needed to be able to put everything back together when he was done. The Goblins would figure out that their wards had been breached very soon, but if he moved quickly, he was fairly confident that he could get away without any undue trouble.

Oddly enough, some of the wards seemed to have been cast by humans…

His muttered spells filled the chamber, echoing slightly as he backed farther away. He had never been much good at silent casting… much to his teachers' annoyance.

It wasn't easy, and it involved him getting thrown backward onto the hard stone floor several times… and narrowing avoiding serious burns many more… but he finally managed, with the help of a few of Mad-Eye's interesting toys, to gently move most of the wards aside.

Mad-Eye had Stunned him after he'd returned from patrol the previous night and kept him out for a full hour because he'd been 'acting suspiciously'. And he had been. Just not for the reasons the older man thought. He had proceeded to give Bill a lecture about reporting in properly, and handed him a few of his dark detectors.

Now, he thought, staring at the smooth, metal door. Here we go…

He moved his wand in a quick, complicated series of gestures, whispering a few words to go along with the wand movement. The final ward on this particular door would incapacitate him before causing a chain reaction that would close up the entire chamber and take the air with it. Nasty, this one.

Making the final movement, he took a rapid step back, wand still raised. Nothing happened. He narrowed his eyes…

And managed not to end up on his back half-way across the room as a jet of red light shot out from the door. No, he just ended up flat on his back ten feet away from his target, banging his head against something or other in the process.

He moaned, rubbing his head before propping himself up on his elbows and surveying his work. A quick check revealed that he had successfully, well… destroyed the curse on the door. He grinned and picked himself up off the floor, retrieving his wand, which had been knocked out of his hand as he fell.

After a moment of listening to see if his efforts had attracted any attention, Bill moved quickly towards the vault. He chuckled incredulously at finding the thing was actually fitted with a Muggle lock. That was somewhat clever, really. As the lock was obviously resistant to unlocking spells—most people in the Wizarding world had no idea how to pick a lock.

Thanks to his father's borderline obsession with Muggles, though, Bill did.

Once inside, he went directly to the back of the large vault, where a line of sturdy cabinets rested.

This vault, unlike many of the ones open for more public use, had walls of polished rock and various types of storage units lining each wall. The cabinets were also charmed to resist intruders, but not nearly as heavily as the entrance had been. That had been… troublesome.

It was rather ironic, Bill mused as he magically copied several of the rolls of parchment he had just retrieved, that the Goblins taught their cursebreakers the very tricks they would need to rob their employers blind. But maybe that was expected. The Goblins had made sure that anyone who even tried to touch any of their gold without proper authorization would pay with more than their lives. It had never occurred to them that a thief might be after something else entirely.

After all, who'd care how much the first undersecretary to the seventh senior counter spent on Firewhiskey in the moth of July?

A muffled sound, the sound of clicking heels caused Bill to look up sharply. Not good. He tucked his illicit copies among his legitimate reports in his bag, muttering charms to make them look like something less… incriminating as he did so.

The low murmur of voices soon joined the clicking footsteps, growing louder every moment.

"Don't worry…" He heard a female voice say cheerfully. "It was probably just a fluke…"

"I should hope not! Very embarrassing…" a rather pompous, male voice joined hers.

Bill realized with slight annoyance that he knew that voice. Little Sam was still here, was she? Strange…

The third voice was guttural, low. Goblin. Angry. Getting closer.

A loud clank sounded… probably from down the chamber, where the gold was kept. Of course they'd check the gold first…

He pushed the heavy metal door open, peering out cautiously. Three figures were visible against the torchlight, their backs to him.

Pulling his cloak's hood over his bright hair, he slipped out of his hiding place and crept along the chamber to the exit.

It was a long climb back up to the surface, along the long, slipper staircase that no one ever used. There was only one cart up from that level, and it ended, as they all did, in the lobby.

Bill, although he would not have admitted it, was slightly shaken and somewhat annoyed with himself. He had nearly gotten caught and he knew it.

The important thing was, though, that he'd successfully evaded his co-workers, not gotten boiled in oil, and had come away with what he'd come for.

He had gotten out of the bank and halfway down the street before his watch read 6:00. Grimacing slightly, he adjusted his bag, remembering that he had to go to work in an hour.

_Henceforth, I will conduct secret missions on my day off._

"Got a paper sir?" a female voice asked lightly. An elderly woman had suddenly popped up right at his elbow. She smelled vaguely of sausages and mash and was smiling broadly.

Bill closed his eyes. "Don't sneak up me like that."

"Why?" The woman ducked under his elbow in an agile way. "Scared you, did I?"

"No." He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "But Fred and George cultivate self-preservation instincts. My natural reaction to someone popping up behind me is to hit them in the face."

"Oh." She laughed, swinging a yarn-dangling knitting bag from one arm as they walked along together. "Got my paper, have you? Your mother's having kittens over this. She spilled breakfast all over me for once.

Bill took a look around and casually handed her the disguised documents. "Have fun, Grandmummy."

She moved to hit him over the head with her bag, catching him on the shoulder as he ducked. Several knitting needles spilled out over the street. "Stop that or I'll do more than hit you, young man," she said airily.

Bill chuckled softly, feeling the tension draining out of him. "Tell Made-Eye that his obvious attempt to get me arrested failed… and that they'd better make good use of these."

"Will do." She looked glum suddenly. "It's very creepy in that house without the kids around, you know. Well, better be off." She suddenly broke off their shared trek and ducked down a narrow alley between two tall, leaning residential buildings.

Bill shook his head, staring after he for a moment. Miss Nymphadora Tonks (just Tonks. Never forget the just Tonks) was a very odd girl. Very odd indeed… good for a laugh… although he still missed his brothers and sister. She was right… everything seemed very empty without them now that he'd gotten used to being around his family for the entire summer. Or maybe he did just miss Ginny and Ron…

Oh _Merlin_. He'd forgotten were he was walking.

Fleur Delacour was standing on the steps of the building directly in front of him, arms folded and foot actively tapping against the stone.

Bill smiled coolly at her, expecting the fall out from the other night to start. "Hullo," he called, waving slightly.

She actually smiled, if rather wanly. "And just what are you doing 'ere?"

"Thinking up ways to further irritate you, of course," he said. "And why are you waiting out on the steps, then?"

Her face darkened. "My muzzer and sister 'ave gone back 'ome. I wuz seeing zem off."

Moving closer, he peered up at her. Her eyes were brightening, glistening in the early-morning light. Bill knew his mother and sister enough to know what _that_ meant. "You'll see them at Christmas, y'know," he offered. "The Goblins'll be a bit more open to suggestions for a few days."

"It's not zat!" she protested, her face wrinkling. "I do not wish to speak of it."

"Naturally," he muttered, sighing. He sat down on the bottom step. She followed suit, sitting a few steps above him, folding her robes over her arm so that they would not sit in the dust. "I trust you're still mad at me?"

"About what?" She sounded confused.

He looked up at her wryly. She sighed, shrugging minusculely. "I do not know. I zink I should be."

"Probably."

"You 'ave no feeling about it zen? You are ze one who…"

He sat to face her, leaning back precariously. "Doesn't matter what I think."

"Doesn't eet?" She smiled humorlessly. "I 'ave no idea 'ow I should react, what I should say. Part of me wants to slap you for even zinking about touching me."

"Then why didn't you?" There was no answer. Sliding smoothly off the stairs, he stood up, extending a hand over to her. "May I ask why we're talking about this out here? I'm cold and I'm guessing you are, too."

It was true. She was only wearing the thin robes that she used in her overly warm flat. Reluctantly, she said, "Oui."

"And I will further speculate that you don't want me in your flat." It wasn't a question.

She rolled her eyes, but took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled up, brushing her robes off with her free hand. "You assume much. But I cannot cook and I do pensez zat you cannot either." The last was said with a raised eyebrow and a half-averted glance.

There was a moment of silence. Then Bill said, sounding rather amused, "You want to go to breakfast, then?"

"Perhaps," she said simply. "But it is not me zat matters, no?"

Now he laughed outright. "No, what matters is that you didn't slap me. I am much obliged. I owe you breakfast."

More silence. "Fine zen. But we weell go someplace were ze food iz not so 'eavy, yes?"

And so it went. It wasn't until many minutes later that they set off for a respectable pub… with non-greasy food and plenty of windows, walking a respectable distance from one another and talking almost amiably about the nutritional benefits (or lack thereof) of English cooking.

* * *

Edit- Thank you guys for pointing out that the chapter repeated itself. Must have happened after I uploaded somehow... because my document sure as heck didn't do that. Bizarre...


	10. Chapter 10

_**All right, impatient ones... I think you'll like this. A few of you might kill me for the sheer (I'll use the word below)... but hey, it's for a good 'cause. :P**_

**_Sorry I'm a bit late. I had a OriginalFic bunny and it refused to leave me alone until I wrote it..._**

* * *

_**Chapter Ten: Whom Do You Think You're Fooling?**_

"You weell make yourself sick. I will never understand 'ow men can _eat_ so much…" Fleur was eyeing her companion's plate of food with obvious surprise. "It is very 'eavy looking," she sniffed, pressing herself back in her seat, so as to be as far away from the offending sausages as possible.

Bill grinned. "You say that a lot," he observed, raising an eyebrow. "It's not that bad. Try some." He pushed his plate towards her, obviously quite serious.

"No, thank you." Fleur ate a bite of her own breakfast defiantly. She replaced his plate firmly across the table and straightened the rumpled, red tablecloth.

He shrugged carelessly. "Your loss…"

Fleur stretched wearily in her seat, hiding a yawn behind her napkin. She then set the napkin firmly on Bill's side of the table so that she could resist the temptation to twist it into rags. He looked at her curiously, but said nothing and went back to eating his nasty, greasy food.

At least he had the sense to use his fork…

She shook her head. She was watching him _eat_? How utterly convoluted. Leaning her chair back, she began to tap her fingers thoughtfully. She had brought them here, hadn't she? There he was… waiting patiently to see why. Fleur grimaced, not altogether sure she liked that. She had to work everything out by herself because men were such _idiots_. They radiated their every feeling out into plain view and hoped that their ladylove felt the same way.

If he didn't want her, he'd have gone away by now. Right?

_I_ _suppose_…

That was what the girls at school had told her, but it didn't apply to her. There was no man that didn't want her. She was a bragging right. The ultimate catch.

They never saw anything beyond that, Fleur thought resignedly, absently flipping a wayward strand of hair out of her face.

Maybe what hurt most of all was that they most likely went home to their wives after meeting her and told them what a frigid bitch they had met that day. No, she wasn't what they wanted. They wanted a good, plump woman that would laugh at their jokes and bring them ale.

She would never be like that.

But he was still here. He was intelligent to know he wasn't going to get a night with her, if that was all he wanted. So why was he still here?

She sighed, realizing that he just might be the only thing that made her mundane, lackluster job worth anything at all. He was quiet when she was upset. He had only laughed when she'd thrown that teacup at him. He made sure she wasn't lonely. Once, however, he'd crossed the line, and he knew it.

But, then, if he was anything like his little brothers… subtly and infinite patience were mostly likely_ not _in his list of virtues.

Maybe that wasn't so much to put up with, after all.

* * *

His mother was going to kill him.

Bill felt the wild urge to laugh aloud at that thought. He was not afraid of his mother… well, yes he was (slightly) afraid of his mother, he just could stand her glare quite a bit better than the rest of the family… he had always, very gently, simply told her no when she started to treat him as she treated the boys that were still under her roof.

_This… might be a touch beyond that…_

Fleur was looking at him thoughtfully, her fingers drumming a pattern onto the table. She didn't look at all angry, which surprised him somewhat… one did not kiss a girl without her permission and get away with it. Particularly this girl.

But it had all gone quite a bit differently than he had expected. She hadn't slapped him senseless and called the aurors on him.

She had asked him to breakfast and was now staring at him, looking like she had no idea what to do. She was as conflicted as he was. He couldn't help but wonder… did he really just enjoy her company because she was so beautiful? What kind of a bloke _likes_ a woman that throws dishes at him?

_I guess a bloke like me…_

Because she was about the farthest from a useless airhead that he could think of. She had a heart that matched her looks.

She was about the vainest thing he had ever met… but perhaps that wasn't so bad, after all.

Her fingers continued to beat their steady rhythm on the tabletop. He blinked, looked up at her curiously.

"You're being… quiet," he said plainly. "What's the matter?"

She looked startled. Her eyes narrowed for a moment. "You."

That took him aback… but he quickly masked his surprise. "Oh? What have I done now, then?"

Taptaptap… "You remember, when I first came 'ere… I told you zat I did not like you?"

He nodded. Somehow, the distance between them had just been halved.

"C'était un mensonge."

For the second time in as many days, he found himself kissing her. Only this time, he hadn't done it. And this time, neither of them made any effort to stop. Neither of them wanted to stop. Ever.

Cries of "Oi! People are trying to _eat_!" and laughing choruses of 'For he's a Jolly Good Fellow'… combined with a need for air… finally caused them to break apart.

There was silence for a moment… and then she laughed and rested her forehead against his, her arms still draped around his neck. He gently pulled her off the table… they were both half on it…and onto his chair. More disgusted protests greeted this action, but he didn't particularly care.

"Are we going to make a habit of this?" he asked wryly.

"I zink I would like that," she said quietly, sounding somehow triumphant and breathless, as if this is what she had planned all along.

He nodded slowly, giving her an odd smile. "I think I would, too…"

* * *

_**The word I was going to use? That would be cheesy. Really cheesy.**_

_**I am too tired to answer reviews, sorry! But you can e-mail me if there's something you just have to know. :)**_


	11. Chapter 11

_Ah. Um, mixed reactions to that last cahpter... But that's okay... Really must go now._

* * *

**_Chapter Eleven:_** _**Watermarks.** _

Romances in the stories are all the same. The brave, dashingly handsome hero falls for the beautiful (and completely incompetent) heroine and, after much peril, they ride happily off into the sunset. They never speak a cruel word to the one they love. The beautiful heroine never stomps away from her lover in a full-out fit after he has been less than tactful.

Reality, unfortunately, is nothing like that; Fleur thought idly, tracing the spine of the novel her mother had left out of her suitcase the day she had left. Accidentally, of course. Fleur had started reading it out of pure boredom.

It was ridiculous… (for Wizarding authors fall into the trap of perfect love just as often as their Muggle counterparts)… and even more so for it to belong someone like her mother.

Or maybe not…

Fleur smiled. The flighty, absent heroine of the novel was very like her mother in some of her worst moments.

Truth be it told, she _hadn't_ been in anything that could be described as a genuine romantic relationship before. She'd dated a few boys during her last years in school… if only to see what it was like… but had never been able to keep it up. The boys would either stutter and make general fools of themselves whenever she came into the room or treat her like a trophy. It was just too much _trouble_. She had had better things to do than make doe eyes at a boy. And she had been rather of being tripped on.

Bill was different. Perhaps it was because he was older; perhaps it was because of his singularly odd personality. She didn't care.

But there were problems with this sort of closeness. She was used to keeping her emotions, her problems to herself.

He'd ask if something was bothering her and she couldn't answer. The differences between them often frustrated him, she knew. Talking… or, in some cases, shouting things out was common in his family. Hers wasn't like that, of course. Shouting wasn't dignified. Communicating without words was often a vital skill.

Therefore, Bill and Fleur did not have fights in the traditional sense. In the three weeks they had been together, she could remember many times where she had given him what he described lightly as the 'cold shoulder'.

It wasn't anything conscious on her part. She just… stopped. Froze up and couldn't do anything other than straighten her posture and purse her lips.

"…I know you're thinking very hard, but could you please take your displeasure out on something other than my arm?" an amused voice cut into her thoughts.

Fleur jumped, startled, and came back to herself. She'd forgotten Bill had been sitting right next to her, sprawled slightly on the floor by her sofa as he wrote up his reports. And she was digging her fingernails into his wrist…

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, unclenching her fingers.

It had become their habit to walk the short distance to her flat together during their lunch break. It was quiet and… more importantly, private.

"'S'okay," he murmured, apparently concentrating hard on whatever he was doing. She frowned, seeing his reports were all ready finished and curled up neatly on the sofa by his head.

Her eyes narrowed, she leaned forward and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Zat is not for ze bank?"

"What would make you think that?" He was still murmuring.

"You do not pay such attention to ze reports from ze bank. You laugh at zem…"

"…Because the people who turn the incidents in are an interesting brand of idiots," he finished. "I know."

Sliding off the sofa and draping one arm about his neck, Fleur attempted to snatch the parchment from him, as he would often do to her when she refused to show work-related jargon to him. It didn't work, of course, as he had much longer arms and had moved away and started reading again without missing a beat. "Nice try." He finally looked over at her, smiling a little wearily. "Really. But it's nothing that would interest you."

"One might say the same about ze things you take from me, yes?" she said wryly, twisting about to lean back on her elbows and looking at him challengingly.

"That's different," he replied calmly, taking no notice of her insistent tone.

"Why?"

"Because you hide those things on purpose so that you can be mysteriously upset all day long…"

"You are upset. And no I do not." He had indeed looked rather worried… which was not exactly normal for him.

He glanced up again, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not upset. Just a little tired. Yes, you do." He was teasing her. It seemed to be something men did… so she had decided to ignore it.

"You remind me of Gabrielle," Fleur said, pouting slightly.

He laughed now. "I'll take that as a compliment."

At least he was smiling. She loved his smile. Even if he was being infuriating. "If you must." Sighing, she got up. At his questioning look, she explained, "I do not wish to be late again. Zat causes annoyance to my employer…" She retrieved the light scarf and cloak that she had draped over the edge of her armchair. She proceeded to pick Bill's things up as well and threw them haphazardly over the sofa despite his protests.

A pillow flew back her way, clearly being directed by magic, and hit her square in the chest. "That hurt," he said calmly.

She threw the pillow back at him. "And I zought English men 'ad spine!"

Two more took her by surprise. "We do. We just learn to use it in the right situations."

"Hah! Mensonges! You are all timid, shrinking vines." She laughed under her breath, triumphantly as he made a small noise when she tossed the pillows back at him. Too soon. She'd underestimated how quickly he could move when he really wanted to…

A kiss on the forehead later, he returned her wand (which he had nicked) and was out the door in front of her with his parchment-filled bag and cloak draped over one arm.

Unwilling to let him win, Fleur hurried after him, his strange behavior forgotten for the moment.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Eeep! You guys, I am so sorry. I thought I had uploaded this about a week ago...**_

**_I am about the spaciest person this side of the Atlantic. Look, if I ever go this long without uploading again, please do pop intro my LiveJournal (link to which is linked under my homepage)and poke me. I most likely have forgotten I had a chapter ready. Mousie posting is always on. :)_**

**_Aaanyway. I think this chapter is tedious, but necessary. Enjoy, howl at me and all that good stuff. :p_**

* * *

_**Chapter Twelve: Suspicion.**_

A shocked scream shattered the silence.

Much to the amusement of those listening, several unrepeatable… words followed. A loud thump came from within one of the office doors and the eavesdropping Gringotts employees scattered.

Then a pompous voice, clearly audible through the thin walls: "Miss Delacour, you will please refrain from using that ear-piercing sound in my presence. Do sit back down and let us finish?"

A short silence and then, almost respectfully a female voice: "Yes, sir."

Laughter broke the generally solemn atmosphere of Gringotts as the flow of daily work continued. "That Delacour woman," one short, graying clerk sniggered to her companion. "She's nutters, she is."

Inside, Fleur sat dismally on the edge of her simple wooden chair, oblivious to the laughter her outburst had caused. Her patience with the senior secretary's sheer _stupidity_ was ebbing quickly.

And, although she didn't know it, as was his ability to keep his temper in the face of such an _annoying_ girl… whom he never would have picked for anything other than window-dressing… was fading just as fast.

Samuel Derkson was a tall, dark man with graying hair and a very irritating habit of tapping his wand point on the desk. The tiny scorch-marks that spotted the great, wooden thing were very obvious reminders of that habit. Naturally, he was quite attracted to Fleur… though he rarely spared her more than a glance. Just as naturally, Fleur hated him and his tapping with an icy passion.

Being quite honest, although Fleur would never admit it, her hatred was partially due to the fact that the man's unfortunate daughter, Sam (named after him in the womb, poor girl), dared make eyes at _her_ Bill.

To Bill's unending amusement, of course.

Crossing her last "t" somewhat viciously, Fleur looked up expectantly from the letter she had been copying. Mr. Derkson flicked his wand at the desk, watching the bright sparks flare up briefly. "This is not school, girl," he reminded her slowly. "There is no tolerance for temper tantrums. If there is an incident like this again…" He coughed. "Well, I need not go into details."

Fleur closed her mouth firmly, face still burning. Had it been her fault that he'd tapped the desk just a bit too hard and had nearly taken her hand off? The man was a menace.

Apparently, one did not scream in front of one's employers in England.

Twenty very awkward, glare-filled minutes later, her shift had ended and she was walking briskly through the near-deserted halls. She was working overtime, hoping to get as much time away over the holidays as possible.

The only problem with that was she missed Bill more than ever. Some days they communicated entirely by Owl post, having clashing schedules at work. He meant to spend Christmas with his family in London… and she was going to see her sister in France… even with the Goblin's aversion to extensive holidays, they would be away for a while. Time alone together was at a premium as of late.

Fleur slowed as she came to the lobby and, in a moment of fancy, ducked down a side corridor to another hallway of dreary offices. It might cost her a bit of sleep… but Bill should have still been working if her clock was correct.

She found him much quicker than she had expected. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning up against one of the stone walls and wrapped in his cloak. Judging by his intent concentration on something propped up on his feet, he was reading.

His office door was firmly closed and he'd look at it blankly now and again, seeming to be expecting something, then melted back into his book. Fleur waited just at the corner, hands on hips. What on earth…?

He noticed her after a second, gave a little wave and made room for her next to him by swinging his bag into his lap and patted the floor next to him. "Thought you'd be home by now," he observed, looking quite worn-out, but he smiled at her like always. She smiled back out of habit, although she felt her face crease in annoyance. He could be such an idiot at times.

"What are you doing out 'ere? Eet is cold!" she exclaimed, ignoring his question, making sure her cloak was between her robes and the floor as she gingerly sat down.

"What… oh, they seem to be searching my office," Bill said dispassionately. "I was in the way so they made me get out." Despite his tone, he looked rather grim.

Fleur grabbed his wrist. "Why? What ees the matter? You 'aven't been letting your brozzers…" she babbled, worried.

That brought a smile to his face again. "No. Nothing like that. Just a routine check. Don't worry about it." Crooked grin, kiss on the cheek. Like always. But rather forced. He _was_ worried.

Fleur leaned up against his shoulder, suddenly cold. He draped his arm around her shoulders and continued his reading, cool as the November winds. As if he hadn't a reason in the world to worry for anything besides the perils of the characters in that book or the figures on the reports. But something about his voice had made her think it was not so routine, after all.


	13. Chapter 13

_Yeah. Consider this a peace-offering, huh:D

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_**Chapter Thirteen: Less is More.**_

Bill had never realized just how tedious his father's job must be. Compared to the constant peril that was a part of daily life at the Egyptian tombs, signing papers and putting up with a few crazy customers was torturously dull.

An unfortunate school bully had once remarked darkly that the entire Weasley family had a death wish. Bill didn't think that was entirely true. They just thrived on danger, was all. Life in the Order was a different sort of danger. A necessary danger. Where more than just his own life was at risk.

The implications grew more complicated with each passing day.

He packed up various things from his somewhat cluttered office and reached out to open the door. It flew open before his hand could touch the knob. He looked around for a second and, finding nothing there, down at the floor. An impatient-looking Goblin stared up at him.

They rarely did knock, so this was no surprise. Instead of saying anything to Bill, however, the Goblin went straight to his desk and starting to yank things out of it. He looked suspiciously at the set of electric plugs that Bill had been planning to give his father that Christmas.

"Um, good evening. What—" The Goblin gave the plugs a critical glance, tossed them aside. Bill whipped his wand up, catching them and floating them to his outstretched palm. "Can I do for you?" he finished, bemused.

"Nothing at the moment," came a crisp voice. Bill turned to find a somberly dressed woman standing in his doorway. "If you could wait outside for a moment?" she said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Alright," he conceded, mentally going through the list of things in his office that might be incriminating. He was very careful about rotating anything he copied out with another Order member as soon as possible… and the reports on the fellow he was tailing had been safely handed off to his mother last night.

And if anyone had seen him while he'd been snooping around where he shouldn't have been, he certainly wouldn't have lasted five minutes…

A wave of the woman's wand shut the door firmly behind him.

Bill rolled his eyes, pulled a book out of his robe pocket and sat down on the floor. Goblins were the oddest creatures to work for. They were notoriously suspicious, greedy, paranoid. He most likely hadn't done anything at all. Even so, he couldn't help but look up at the door every few pages.

After a while, he got the distinct feeling of being watched. He glanced up to find Fleur standing in the shadows, hands on hips and looking quite annoyed. Waving her over, he said, "Thought you'd be home by now." He smiled, though. She was a welcome sight if there ever was one…

She smiled back, although traces of irritation still clung to the expression. _Probably_ _thinks I've_ _gone_ _'round_ _the_ _bend, sitting out here._

The only light out in the corridors was a flickering, golden fire that was attached to the walls in magically re-enforced glass jars. It was spread fairly evenly about, but had missed a few places just beyond where the walls curved into the next corridor. There, the shadows and light mixed, fought. Fleur sat down beside him, her face half in shadow. "What are you doing out 'ere? Eet is cold!" she scolded.

Bill grimaced, but told her what had happened. He chuckled when he immediate reaction was to ask him if he'd let his brothers lose in the offices. "No. Nothing like that," he said reassuringly, leaning over to give her a kiss. "Just a routine check. Don't worry about it."

But she could obviously tell that he wasn't as calm as he appeared. Her body stiffened up against his. He put an arm around her, squeezing her shoulders, then went back to his book. After trying three times to read a single sentence, he gave up and shut the book with a muffled thump.

"You are tired," she observed quietly.

"A bit," he admitted, trying not to sound tired.

She directed an icy glare at his door. "I shall 'ave a talk weeth zem," she threatened darkly.

He chuckled. "Somehow, I think that'd only get us both in trouble."

The door opened again; Bill got to his feet, pulling Fleur with him. The stern-looking woman came out, several things that he couldn't readily identity floating about her hands. She gave Fleur a once-over. Fleur stared back at her until she flushed and busied her eyes elsewhere.

"Would you mind telling us what this is about, then?" Bill asked quickly, sensing a storm brewing.

Grudgingly, the woman explained, "We had a tip from a very reliable source that you have used your position for your own gain, Mr. Weasley. I'm afraid that this is something we cannot ignore."

"A tip. From who?" he asked, surprised.

The lady gave him a _look_ over the end of her square-nosed spectacles. "Never you mind."

"You didn't find anything. Can I go back in my office now?"

"No. As I have told you," she said primly, "we cannot afford to ignore anything of this nature. Especially now. You will be asked to take a few days to yourself as we investigate this further."

He could feel Fleur's glare burning into the back of his neck. Sighing, he reached back to take her hand. "I assume I can go now?" he said coolly.

"That would be best, yes."

Bill turned on his heel and walked away, barely reaching the magical barrier before he apperated away, re-appearing with a slight pop in his own flat. He only had a moment to digest what had just happened before Fleur appeared beside him.

She started to say something, but he shook his head. "Fleur…" he sighed. "Stop. I have no idea what's this is about, but you can be assured that it will be over and done with before you get back from holiday."

"I'm not going," she said crisply.

"I don't _want_…" he started, but barely were the words out before the look on her face stopped him.

Fleur made a noise halfway between a hiss and a sob and turned her back on him.

"Stop being like this," he commanded a bit more harshly than he had intended. Immediately regretting it, he reached out to touch her shoulder, but she spun around so fast that some of her hair fell out of its knot and brushed his hand.

"You are saying zis to me!" she asked incredulously, hands flying to her hips, the corners of her eyes hardening.

He sighed and shifted from foot to foot. "Fleur," he said slowly, "I've watched you work yourself sick for the past month, trying to get enough time off so that you could go see your family. I'm going to be home to see my siblings back from Hogwarts and nothing is going to happen. It's a silly mistake…they are going to be begging for my forgiveness within the week." Of course… if this 'tip' was from who he thought it was… the Goblins were the least of his problems.

Fleur shook her head, displacing several more strands of hair. "You are attempting to get rid of me and you know it, Bill Weasley."

Bill gave her a curious look. "I am?"

"Oui, you are!"

"I wasn't aware of that."

She stared at him, her foot beginning to tap in an exasperated way. The sound echoed oddly in the stone-paneled room. "You are trying to change ze subject."

"Fine then," he said calmly. "What are you going to do here?"

"I weell shred their precious Ministry," she said, smiling in a somewhat frightening manner. Bill was reminded very suddenly of what had happened to the referees at Quidditch Nationals and almost laughed. Almost. An angry, protective woman was something that invoked a sort of grudging respect in all men.

Smiling inwardly—for showing any signs of fondness now would certainly cost him dearly—Bill said, carefully, "I care about you very much, you know. And that is why I'm not letting you get involved in this."

_Any_ of it.

In a way, Bill knew that she was going to find out about what exactly he did in his spare time… and soon. Dim she certainly wasn't. Although he was fairly certain the logical side of his brain would rail at him for not telling her later, he kept his mouth shut.

"And zat is exactly why I'm not going anywhere," came the inevitable.

All right. She'd asked for it. "What are you going to tell your sister, then?"

If it was possible, her eyes narrowed even further. "I…" she paused. "I had not thought about it." The look on her face told him very clearly that she knew what he was trying to do.

"Are you perfectly convinced that I'll get myself arrested or something equally terrible if you leave for two weeks?"

"No," she murmured hesitantly, her face still scrunched up in a combination of anger and exhaustion.

He reached out to touch her shoulders. This time, she let him, throwing her head back proudly.

"If you don't write to me every single day," she said, deathly quiet, "I will come straight back and set Gabrielle loose on you. Try and lie to me and you will find out several very unpleasant zings about Veelas."


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi, guys. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, I wouldn't have been able to get back on-track without my reviewers.**

**Anyway, here's your Christmas present. I hope it fits. Merry Christmas... or Happy Holidays. Whichever you prefer. :p**

**_Chapter Fourteen: In Which the Long-Lost Return._**

In her nightmares, she was never able to scream.

They were about the Tri-Wizard Tournament, mostly. That horrible moment in the maze when she had heard some sound… perhaps a twig snapping… whirled around and found a wand pointed at her face. At the sight, she'd screamed with the force of every ounce of air in her lungs, frightened beyond reasoning.

But, in her dreams, there was never any sound. Just something inside her screaming for her to strike out at the man, to stop him. If she stopped him, if she didn't hesitate, then maybe she wouldn't have to face little Harry Potter's haunted eyes.

There was the jet of red light and she fell. The hated visage of the traitor loomed over her. Unusually, she was able to move. Kicking upwards with a silent cry, she…

Heard a screech. A surprised, female screech.

Fleur sat bolt upright. She was in bed, of course, covered in the downy blue blankets of her old bedroom in her parent's house. The rather shrill voice belonged to her unfortunate younger sister.

Gabrielle lay sprawled on her backside, looking shocked. Fleur winced. "Are you all right?" she asked breathlessly, holding her nightdress closed with one hand, clutching her wand in her other. She had no idea where it had come from.

Nodding, Gabrielle rose gracefully. "That hurt," she said in a small voice, her tone still colored by surprise.

"I know… I'm sorry… I was…" Her dream was not for young ears. "Having a... dream."

The sisters glared at each other.

"That _hurt_," Gabrielle said again, sulking now. She rubbed at her at her reddening forearm.

She was fine, then. Scowling, Fleur swung her legs over the side of the bed. "What in the name of Merlin are you doing in here?" she demanded. It was not her custom to rise early unless she absolutely had to. Being woken up like this did nothing to improve her feelings on the matter.

The memory of her dream had all ready begun to fade, as dreams are apt to do.

"There's someone to see you," Gabrielle explained after a beat, her expression matching Fleur's.

"Who?" Fleur yawned, stretching, cat-like. Her covers slid off the bed to pile in a heap on the polished floor.

"I don't know," her sister said. "The House Elves won't let me in the sitting room. And they won't wake you up before 'leven."

"Oh… and why is that?" Fleur sighed, slipped off her bed and started rummaging through her partially unpacked trunk. _Someone to see me_, she thought dully. _At…_she glanced at the steadily ticking clock by her bedside. _Nine in the morning. Sh—_ Fleur looked over at her little sister warily—_ip_, then laughed. Although it seemed silly to censure her own thoughts, Gabrielle had the strangest way of decoding expressions… or so Fleur thought. The child grew sneakier by the day.

"I told them not to. I feared for their lives," Gabrielle said solemnly, flopping down onto Fleur's bed.

Fleur's laugh was slightly muffled by the dark blue robe she was pulling over her head. "Insolent little girl," she said, amused. A wave or her wand flung open the door. "Tell my visitor that I will be down shortly." She waved the wand again, prodding Gabrielle along. "Don't stomp down the stairs," she added, closing the door firmly.

Rhythmic, deliberate stomping reached her ears ten seconds later.

Slowly combing her hair, Fleur gave extensive thought on the subject of setting a tripping jinx on the bottom step, then stopped herself. It was she who should apologize to her baby sister.

"Mama would know what to do," Fleur whispered, sighing. She tossed her comb down on her bed. Her mother hadn't returned home. Knowing her mother, Fleur was more annoyed than anything else. Both girls needed their parents more than anything that Christmas—which was only ten days away now.

Straightening her robes, Fleur left her room and padded down the stairs of her family's lavish home and down to the door of the sitting room. A small, wrinkled creature paced in front of it. Gabrielle was nowhere in sight.

"Good morning, Jinxy," she said briskly, glancing down at the House Elf, who was wringing its hands nervously. The creature brightened at her appearance.

"Jinxy is glad mistress Fleur is awake," Jinxy said happily. "Jinxy will get mistress Fleur some breakfast."

Fleur gave small smile. "Thank you. Gabrielle has eaten, yes?"

"Mistress Gabrielle ate," Jinxy responded quickly. "She is being behind the curtains." The little Elf pointed at the draperies that covered the long windows that lined the hall.

Giggling at this, Fleur started towards the sitting room door. "Just make sure she doesn't come listen at the door. Who's come to see us, Jinxy?" she asked curiously. "You know that I didn't want to see anyone unless it was urgent…"

"He is asking for me not to tell, mistress Fleur," said Jinxy mischievously. "I will go get the mistress her breakfast now."

Before Fleur could protest, the little creature had disappeared with a poof. Fleur rolled her eyes, then forced her face into a cool expression and pushed open the door.

The man who had been fidgeting in a high-backed chair at one end of the room rose to his feet, started to say something—but Fleur cut him off by running to him and flinging her arms around him with a glad cry. "Papa!"

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No sooner had Bill seen Fleur off to the Floo Central, had his mother literally broken his door down.

Bill looked at his splintered door, then at his mother, eyes widening at her drawn wand. "I… surrender?" he said, amused. Without a word, a distraught-looking Molly Weasley swept past her son into his flat.

With a muttered "reparo", the door was fixed, with another slight motion of his wand it swung shut and Bill turned to face his mother.

Her first action was to hug him rather hard, as if to make sure that he was all right. "We heard about what happened, oh, Bill…"

He sighed. "This sort of thing happens a lot, you know. I don't think it's anything serious."

Scoldingly, she pointed her finger at her eldest son, eyes narrowing. "If you get yourself hurt…"

Bill rose an eyebrow at his mother. Not this again. "What… you mean like the time when I was nearly roasted alive by a mummy? Or when that spell backfired in my face and I was nearly crushed by a boulder? Or—" He stopped abruptly, realizing that his mother was about to cry. "Come on, Mum," he murmured calmly, draping an arm across her shoulders and steering her towards the sofa. "You worry too much."

"I don't worry enough, young man," she snapped. "No sense. Any of you! Getting yourself _sacked_ right when your father is off guarding the you-know-what half the time and your siblings are trapped at school with that awful woman and—"

"Mum," he said patiently, cutting off her slightly hysterical rant, "I have _not_ been sacked. And especially not because of my hair, earring, annoying family, or unfortunate habit of going places where I shouldn't. My siblings can bloody well take care of themselves and my father can guard the you-know-what better than most people…" he trailed off. "Was there anything else?"

His mother frowned a moment, then shook her head. "You'll make my hair fall out, you lot."

Smiling at her, he squeezed her shoulder. "All in good time."

She took a deep breath. "In any case, the Order'll need to investigate. It's likely you've been compromised… whatever the cause of this."

"It'll be hard to get another member in my position, Mum," Bill countered. "If the enemy really considered me a threat, I'd likely be dead by now."

Mrs. Weasley winced at that. "You'll do what's best for the Order, dear. If we decide that you need to be pulled out and sent somewhere else…"

"I won't argue," Bill said dutifully.

"Exactly." She sighed. "I won't have you put yourself in danger. Yes, the position's important, but… "

"You worry too much," he repeated quietly, mind racing. What, exactly, was he going to tell Fleur if he had to leave now? She'd be suspicious. She half-suspected something of him all ready. He wouldn't lose her like that.

A glance at his mother sent his thoughts further into confusion. He turned his face away so that she couldn't see.

"Alastor is angry," his mother said cautiously. "You'll have to talk to him… soon; perhaps Dumbledore, too, when he can be reached again. Dear," she hesitated, as if searching for words, "you're sure you've been careful?"

"I'm always careful," he said softly.

"Of course you are," she sighed. "Of course you are."

They sat in silence for a long moment each thinking their own dark thoughts.

There was a sudden, loud pop from behind them. Molly shrieked. Bill drew his wand from his pocket and spun around.

"Don't _do _that!" Molly cried upon seeing who had surprised them, her hand resting over her chest in a startled gesture.

"Ought to have anti-apparition wards up," Moody growled, ignoring her.

"I'd rather have people attack me in my flat where I know the place than get jumped while walking home one dark night," Bill said evenly. Molly poked him in the ribs.

Moody snorted. "Put them up."

Bill gestured with one hand, inclining his head in agreement without argument.

"Just thought you'd like to know," Moody began, clomping over to one of Bill's kitchen chairs and sitting down, "I don't think we'll have to move you after all."

"What do you mean?" Molly asked, getting up to stand beside Bill.

"I mean that the person playing snitch to the Goblins has no apparent connections to the Death Eaters or the Order," Moody said in his low, gravelly voice. "But you are going to have to reign in your romantic entanglements if you expect to be of any help at all to us, boy," he added with a dark look.

"What!" Bill and his mother said simultaneously.

"Are you or are you not involved with a woman named Fleur Delacour?"

_Ah. Oh, Hell. This isn't going to turn out well at all…_

"Yes, sir," Bill stated calmly.

"And have you told her anything about the Order or your work in it?"

"No, sir. I'm not quite that stupid, sir." Bill could feel his mother's eyes burning into his back.

"I should hope not," Moody said dryly. "You might explain this if that's the case." He flicked his wand and a new-looking piece of parchment spread itself out in the air.

They leaned over it, Molly glancing at her son in a suspicious way every now and then.

Bill stared at what he saw. "You can't be serious," he said, his voice caught somewhere between choked laughter, confusion and concern. "Oh Merlin," he said, half to himself. "This is not good."

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Mwahaha. I've had such fun with the next few chapters.

So. I'm back. :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Hi. :) I think this just may be one of my fastest updates ever. I was in a writing mood, I guess.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed, it means a lot to me that you take the time. (By the way, if I ever start holding my chapters hostage, you have my permission to lynch me. Ergh.)**

**P.S.: I updated quickly, youknowwhoyouare, so now you can stop threatening to kill me...**

**So, I hope you like it. Lor, I'm chatty tonight. Time to step away from the keyboard. 'Night!**

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**_Chapter Fifteen: Oh, Dear…_**

There were a few seconds of silence. Bill finally turned to look at Moody, crossing his arms

Moody merely looked back at him, expressionless, his magical eye rolling slowly in its socket.

"Are you sure that's…" Bill started, bearing the old auror's stony stare just as calmly; but, inwardly, he was squirming.

"Positive. Not exactly subtle, is he?" There was a note of contempt in the man's voice.

"Fleur doesn't have anything to do with this," Bill said slowly.

"Probably so," Moody agreed. "But we can't have civilians—if that's what he truly is—fooling with vital Order business on a whim. This'll have to be dealt with." He glanced back at Molly for the barest of seconds, and then shook his head. "And she's the closest link to a resolution. There is no easy way around this. You'll have to be the one to do it. We're short-handed as it is."

"I'm not going to kill him, Mad Eye," Bill said dryly, reaching for his cloak.

Moody snorted. "Enough with that. You know where the girl is now?"

"Fleur? Yes."

"Start there. We'll send aid if you can't handle the situation." Moody's tone made it clear that that particular scenario was not high on his list on favorites. Bill winced inwardly. Any way he 'handled the situation', he was going to face the wrath of several people that he'd sworn never to arouse the ire of.

He wondered if Fleur grew talons when she was angry.

"Weasley."

Bill snapped out of that rather gruesome thought. "Sir?"

"This won't happen again." It wasn't a suggestion and he wasn't given a chance to answer. "Put up those Apparition wards." Moody nodded to Molly, Vanished the parchment, and was gone with an abnormally loud crack.

Sighing, Molly sank back down on Bill's couch. Bill stiffened at the look on her face. A rare jolt of annoyance coursed through him. He didn't wait for her to say anything. "I won't talk about this with you, Mum," he warned.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, looking perturbed.

"Because you have enough on your mind without a girlfriend of mine to torment," Bill said calmly. He bent over to kiss her cheek. "I'll see you in a few days."

Within moments, he was trapped within a suffocating swirl of colors and off to pay his unfortunate lady-love a visit that he was not sure he was going to come back from intact.

Back at the headquarters of the Order, Mad Eye Moody used an irritated flick of his wand to set alight the new-smelling square of parchment, muttering various unflattering things about "new recruits".

The paper burned quickly within magical fire, its smoke contained and its ashes gone almost faster than the eye could follow.

But, just before the fire had reached its brightest point, the shadow of a name could be glimpsed in a blotched, rushed scrawl.

Jacques Delacour.

* * *

Fleur felt a strong pair of arms engulf her, smelled the mingled scents of a dozens countries and giggled happily against her father's robe. When she pulled away, she was forced to duck away to avoid being hit by a very excited little girl.

"Papa, Papa, Papa!" Gabrielle squealed. "You're home! Is Mama home too? Where were you! Did you have a long trip? … Did you bring me anything? Did you eat breakfast? Is Mama really not home? Are you sure you haven't brought me anything?"

Their father laughed quietly. "I missed you, too, little one. Let me see if I can sort that out… No, your mother is not home quite yet, but I'm sure she will be soon. I was in too many places to name. Yes, I had a long trip, no I have not had breakfast and yes, I brought you something." He puffed, "Anything else?"

"No." Gabrielle shook her head, beaming. "What did you get me? Can I go see?"

"In my trunk," said her father. "Through with me all ready?"

Fleur bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"I know what _you_ look like, silly!" Gabrielle exclaimed. She gave her father another hug, a whispered "I missed you" and skipped off.

Fleur noticed the smile fade off her father's face. He seemed so tired. So old. A tall, bearded man with solemn blue eyes, her father looked rather… well, plain when compared with the exotic visages of his wife and daughters. But Fleur had always liked that about him. He looked stable. He looked safe.

"What happened to Maria?" he questioned, peeling off a pair of gloves and brushing the soot from his clothes.

"I do believe we fired her," Fleur said dully.

"And left Gabrielle alone?" No smile now. "You should have known better."

Hurt by his coldness, Fleur tried again. "It was not my choice, Papa, you know that. We're happy you made it home, we were starting to worry…" Trailing off, she hugged her arms. "Papa is there something wrong?" she questioned, brushing her fingers against his arm. He pulled away.

"Nothing, Fleur," he said briskly. Softening, just a bit, he explained: "Forgive me. I suppose I'm a little tired."

"You should rest, then," she said a trifle icily. Fleur motioned towards the door with a pale hand.

Her father followed her up the staircase. The only sound was the dull thud of footsteps and an occasional nervous whimper from Jinxy, who was following them for reasons only she understood.

Fleur blinked furiously when she felt her eyes moisten. What was the matter with him? Wasn't he happy to see her? It had been so long, he had to be happy to see her! He was never angry with her, no matter what she did.

Pushing open the doors to the master bedroom, Fleur smiled quickly at her father. "Here you are. I'll have Jinxy bring you up some breakfast." And walked back out, deciding that he was just tired and irritable—although that was even less like him.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he said, sounding weary. But there was more than that. He sounded hesitant. Upset, even.

Fleur sighed softly. Ever since the Tournament, the world had been in a daze. Everyone seemed so…odd, pretending that nothing had changed. But that was wrong. Everything had changed that night.

"I never wanted you to go."

Fleur turned slowly. "Pardon me?"

Her father was twisting the hem of his sleeve between his fingers. "I didn't want you to go; I told your mother that. Look now."

Fleur turned fully, her hands flying to her hips. "Can you speak your mind for once? Please? Don't do this to me now. You're angry I left France, is that it?"

Her father didn't seem to hear her. "Of course it isn't your fault. It must be so hard for you to find someone you could trust, they'd know that."

Exasperated, Fleur threw up her hands and started to leave, her shoes clicking painfully loud on the floor. She paused at the door, looking back at him. Instincts, thoughts, feelings swirled through her mind. _Scream at him; slap him; hug him._

He made an oddly pathetic figure, sitting on the edge of his enormous bed, face turned towards the ceiling with a strangely miserable expression. "What good is magic if I can't protect my own daughter?" he said to the ceiling. "But I've taken care of it. I took care of everything."

"You daughter can protect herself," Fleur snapped. Softer. "Get some rest." Closed the door and walked off, trying to keep as much dignity as possible. Jinxy still hovered around her skirts, still wringing her hands.

"Horrible man!" she cried suddenly. "Horrible, horrible man! Protect _me_! I'll…" She paused. "Fry him in oil, cut him into tiny pieces and feed him to a werewolf!" At that, she nodded, satisfied and Jinxy whimpered.

"You must not hurt master, mistress Fleur. Jinxy can't let mistress Fleur hurt master…"

"_If_ I hurt master," Fleur said shortly, "You will help me hide the body."

"Yes, mistress Fleur," Jinxy said miserably and Fleur almost laughed. She would, too.

Brightening at thoughts of making men suffer, Fleur set off towards the study, intending to take out her frustrations at her father's strange moods on a certain annoying (but unbearably dashing) redhead.

_I'm beginning to think like the heroines in mother's romance novels. Lovely._


	16. Chapter 16

_SeeStar is back with your new and improved chapter! Use it well._

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_**Chapter Sixteen: Yellow Roses.**_

"Where did these come from?"

Mistaking her mistress's surprised question for displeasure, Jinxy took a step back, wringing her hands. "Jinxy does not know, mistress Fleur. They are being delivered to the front gate, mistress. Minny is taking them in. Jinxy told her not to, but—"

Fleur waved off the nervous House Elf with an imperious gesture. "That'll be all, thank you."

She barely noticed as the Elf wished out of the room without a sound.

A small bouquet of roses had been waiting downstairs for her. They were tied with a blue ribbon… and not one was fully opened. She knew who they were from and smiled. _This does not excuse you from writing me a letter, English man_, she added mentally.

She reached out to gently touch one of the buds. It immediately began to bloom under her fingertips, maturing into a full rose within seconds. Fleur laughed, delighted, and touched the other buds, watching them bloom in swirls of color. Carefully, she picked up the bundle and tiptoed to the study, inhaling the fragrant scent of the flowers as she went.

A surprised "Oh!" met her distracted entrance to the dark-paneled room.

"You're getting desperate, little one," Fleur said, not bothering to look up from her present. "You don't want to get hurt, do you?"

Reluctantly, the response came, "No…"

"I would have showed these to you in any case. No need to sneak around." Fleur slid around the desk and sank into the large, comfortable chair positioned behind it, slipping out of her shoes as she sat.

Gabrielle leaned back on her elbows. She had been rummaging through her father's small, rather battered trunk. "Papa won't like your English lover," she said solemnly, stumbling slightly over the phrasing. She smiled in a singularly mischievous way.

Fleur could only stare.

"He liked you," Gabrielle reasoned. "You liked him. It's been awhile. And now he's sending you flowers." She grinned yet again, obviously pleased at this deduction.

Shaking her head, Fleur twirled a stem between her fingers. "Someday, you're going to hear something you regret, listening at doors."

"I all ready have," Gabrielle said cryptically. She frowned for a moment. "You didn't say that he wasn't your lover," she chimed.

"… Do be quiet. It's none of your business." Fleur was blushing now, although she managed to keep her voice level. "And he is not. Whoever "he" is."

"That…" Gabrielle bit her lip, thinking hard. "That… Weasel man."

"It's "Weasley". No, he isn't."

"Yes he is. You just don't want to admit it. Besides, you never told me the flowers were from him, you know. You didn't say they weren't, either, so they must be."

Sometimes Fleur almost regretted loving her sister far too much to hex her.

"Have you seen what Papa got me?" Gabrielle said brightly, perhaps sensing that she was treading on thin ice. "

"Papa was in Egypt?" Fleur asked, glancing up from her flowers, frowning slightly.

"I think so." Gabrielle danced over to her sister, holding out the pendant for her inspection.

Fleur unfolded her legs and leaned over to touch the pendant, which looked rather like a golden cross attached to a teardrop. It looked like the Key of Life, which symbolized immortality (so Bill had told her). It looked expensive. Fleur brushed the symbols on its base. "It's lovely." She smiled. "You'd better put Papa's clothes back now. They'll get wrinkled."

"He won't care," Gabrielle grumbled, but set about doing it anyway. "Can I use your wand?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?" Gabrielle saw that her sister was not going to lend the use of her wand. "Why not?"

"Because…" Fleur narrowed her eyes. "Stop doing that. You know why not." She fiddled with the flowers' ribbon while using her wand to turn the chair around. Her sister could no longer see her. Gabrielle sighed pointedly and said nothing more.

A dust-speckled parchment slip fell from somewhere within the roses, fluttering to the floor under her chair. Fleur recognized the clear, careful handwriting immediately. _He gets to live_, she thought happily, reaching down for it. Carefully, as not to attract her overly inquisitive baby sister's attention.

She unfolded it, staring at the handful of words.

_Come outside. I hope this excuses me for not writing you._

Folding the paper, Fleur crept out of the study. Gabrielle was distracted by a carved, self-spinning top that she had found somewhere or other and didn't notice her leave. Or didn't _seem_ to notice her leave, anyway.

On bare feet, she walked through the hall to the front door. Running was beneath her. Most of the time.

After checking for the House Elves, she pulled open the door. "You could have just knocked," she observed wryly. "I am not quite sure I weesh to know how you came past ze gate."

"And give you time to get out the teacups?" The tall, redheaded man rose from the front walk where he had been sitting cross-legged. Patiently.

"Zere would have been chairs."

Bill smiled in his maddening way.

She put a finger to his lips and pulled him towards one of the large, underused rooms her house boasted, shutting the door softly behind them. They embraced. He brushed his lips against the top of her head. "What are you doing 'ere?" she asked, stumbling to speak English once more. Her voice was husky with effort.

He smiled lopsidedly. "You're sure you want to know, then, or did you want the half-true version?"

Her hands stiffened on his arms. "What now?"

"It's good news," he assured her. "Well, mostly. The good news is that we think I will be back to work by New Years."

She motioned or him to go on, not quite knowing what to think.

"The bad news… well… Your father's come home?"

"'Ow do you know that?" What does he have to do with…" Strong arms guided her to the chair.

"Here," he said simply, spreading out a plain sheet of Muggle paper in front of her on the desk.

He was hesitant. Bad. Oh, bad. Fleur looked down at the paper and then did a double take. "What! Where in the name of Merlin did you get thees? That cannot be true… my fazzer was…" Trailing off, Fleur looked harder at the paper, as if squinting would make the words make sense. "What possible reason could he have for telling lies about you?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Bill admitted solemnly, looking her right in the eye.

"Merde," she whispered. Fleur sprang out of her seat. "Stay here," she snapped and strode purposefully out of the room before Bill could protest.

He winced and buried his head in his arms as she left the room.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Hope you like, and so on... must go...**_

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_**Chapter Seventeen: Understanding.**_

Her mind whirling, Fleur glided up the stairs and stood in front of her father's door. She thought she knew what had happened. Loving father that he was, her father had somehow found out about her relationship with Bill and decided that he didn't like it. Being an influential man in the Wizarding community, he'd made up some lie about Bill and presented it to the Goblins.

She was going to…

_Oh, very well_. Perhaps not _kill_ him, but he certainly _would_ regret causing Bill all this fuss, she thought. Determined not to attract the attention of her sister, she knocked softly on the door.

There was a thud. "Wh'is't?"

"Papa, would you please come out here? There's something I need to talk to you about."

He obliged, looking groggy. She felt momentarily guilty about waking him up after five minutes of sleep, but quickly overrode it and led him downstairs, into the room where Bill waited, sitting behind a small desk.

Her father visibly paled at the sight of Bill sitting calmly on his own chair and turned to face his daughter. Fleur gave him a look that could have frozen Egypt and pointed towards the straight-backed chair across from the desk.

"Sit. Down," she ordered tersely.

He did so, slowly and directing a particularly nervous look at the door.

Fleur conjured a chair for herself and placed it in front of the door. She sat down. "I think you have some explaining to do, yes?" She glanced at Bill, who met her stare without flinching. "And you as well?" When there was no answer from either man, she folded her arms and began tapping her foot in an irritated manner. "Come now. It would be most unfortunate if I had to insist, would it not?" She let that hang in the air a moment before adding, "Start talking."

Her father cleared his throat. "Well… erh…" He sighed, and spoke rapidly in French. "Fleur, dear, can we talk about this alone?"

Fleur shook her head. "No."

"Trust me, Fleur…"

"Papa." Fleur could feel her nails sharpening and digging into her palms. "I'm not going to let you out of this. You did this to him and you are going to tell him why." She switched back into English and said coldly, "Understood?"

"You are so much more like your mother than you will ever realize," her father said, rather resignedly.

Bill cleared his throat softly.

Fleur rose an eyebrow at her father. "You are stalling," she warned.

"Fleur!" her father said vehemently. "Stop it."

His frustrated tone drove her into silence.

Her father seemed to grope for words. Fleur could see his hand clenching his wand under the fabric of his sleep-rumpled robe.

"The reason I… well… I… had a talk with the Goblins was… Ithink_he_maybeaDeathEater." He said this all in one garbled, angry sentence.

There was a shocked silence.

"Would… would you care to repeat that?" Bill said in a politely confused tone. It was the first time she'd ever heard him hesitate.

Fiercely, "You heard me."

"What!" Fleur exclaimed, finally able to speak. Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. She couldn't anything more than give her father a wide-eyed look. _Of all the crazy…_ She stole a glance over at Bill, who looked very much like he was about to laugh and shook her head.

Bill's shoulders were quivering in a suspicious way. His eyes danced with mirth. "Actually, you've got that rather mixed up," he chuckled.

"Really?" Fleur's now-irate father snapped. "Would you care to explain yourself then?"

"Explain _what_?" Fleur asked angrily, but both men ignored her.

"I'm sorry. I can't do that," Bill said, now starting to look slightly uncomfortable.

"Can't or won't, young man?"

"A little bit of both, actually."

"Don't be impudent."

"I didn't think I was being impudent at all. Would you tell someone you neither knew nor trusted the intimate details of your profession?" There was no trace of laughter in his voice now.

Fleur's father stood up… then sat down very quickly when Fleur gave him a threatening look. "When it concerns my daughter, yes!"

Bill looked mildly exasperated. He thought for a moment, then sighed. "What, exactly, would give you the idea that I might be involved with the Death Eaters? It's common knowledge that they lost any kind of meaningful influence over fourteen years ago." His tone suggested that he didn't believe that at all.

"My daughter was attacked by one. Very recently," Fleur's father said coldly. "They do have… influence, as you call it." Nervously, he glanced at Fleur, whose expression suggested he'd better get on with it. "Very well. I… received a tip… from someone who works with you. Said that you like to sneak around the vaults."

Bill sighed again. "Is that all? I happen to be a security advisor, sir. I'm paid to sneak about. "And sneaking around has nothing to do with serving the Dark Lord," he added.

"There were other things," Fleur's father muttered.

"Like what, Papa?" Fleur burst out, tired of listening to them joust. "I am starting to think that you did this merely to annoy us. Bill's family is close to 'Arry Potter… his uncles died during the war. I have seen nothing to support this thing you say. Unless you 'ave anything better to say, I suggest you be silent."

Her father simply grunted, not looking at either his daughter or the redheaded intruder that seemed to have her complete confidence.

Fleur got up and vanished the chair, glaring at her father all the while. "Go back to bed, Papa," she commanded. She turned her back on him.

Standing, her father dipped his head. "If this is what you want. You're an adult. You can make your own decisions," he said heavily, and turned to go. "But don't say I haven't warned you."

As the door closed, Fleur made her way over where Bill sat and positioned herself on the desk directly in front of him, drawing her feet under herself. "Zat was hard," she stated quietly.

He leaned back, his expression grim. "If you don't trust me, I could understand, Fleur. I haven't given you any reason to."

She sighed. "It's not that." She reached out and took his hand, tracing the scars that laced his palm with her cool fingers. "I know you're keeping something from me," she said, not looking at him. She heard him sigh quietly and knew it was true. "I don't like it. But I also know that you wouldn't do anything to hurt me." After a pause, she continued, "Even if it does make me insane… I can wait until you are ready to tell me."

He kissed her fingers. "That's more than any woman should have to do. Thank you." He sounded tired. She found herself irritated with the person that had made him sound so… old.

Neither one could find anything more to say. There wasn't anything else to say.


	18. Chapter 18

_I wanted to write something a bit more light-hearted. :p Enjoy._

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_**Chapter Eighteen: A Respite.**_

For the next two days, Bill stayed with the Delacour family; trying to make some dent in the nasty reputation he seemed to have gained with Fleur's singularly irritating father. He might have better spend the effort pounding his head against a brick wall.

Communications with the Order via a highly amused Tonks had settled his whereabouts for a few days… then he was to report back to Gringotts.

In the meantime…

Peals of bell-like laughter drifted to his ears. He gave his chuckling ladylove a dark look. "I suggest you be quiet, sweetheart. It might come after you next." He raised a batter-encrusted spoon threateningly. The giggling was swiftly muffled.

"You wouldn't dare," Fleur managed, affronted by the suggestion.

"Then stop laughing at me," Bill grumbled, smiling despite himself. It _was_ rather funny.

Perhaps sensing their master's dislike of the guest, the House Elves had taken to having a great many "accidents" while Bill was around. Bill had calmly declared to Fleur that he wasn't going to eat anything they made after a certain incident with a pot of lemon sauce.

Fleur had interrogated the Elves at length; they denied doing anything wrong. Ultimately, she had ordered the indignant little creatures out of the kitchen while Bill attempted to make them breakfast.

So it was that the two were in a corner of the moderately sized kitchen, Bill experimenting with an old recipe of his mother's, Fleur sitting on a stool one of the Elves had provided her with, alternately laughing and ducking as Bill's experiments backfired. He had never been good at cooking. He didn't use his wand for fear of causing an even bigger mess.

"I will not," Fleur said definitely, peering dubiously at him from behind the strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face. Combined with her flushed cheeks, she almost glowed. "Zis was your idea, silly English man and I intend to enjoy every minute of it." She brushed a bit of flour off her sleeve and got up, wrapped her arm around his waist. "You 'ave flour on your cheek," she informed him suddenly.

He brushed it off his face and smeared a bit on her forehead. "Look at that. So do you," he said emotionless in tone. But his eyes were dancing.

She made a surprised noise and slapped his arm playfully. "You shall soon have more than a little bit of flour on your face if you do zat again," she threatened, patting her pocketed wand with her free hand.

Letting go of her, Bill flashed a maniac grin. "Oooh. I'm frightened," he said, looking like he was on the verge of laughing.

That earned him another smack. "Oui! Bon! You should be. I would turn you into a flame-haired armadillo and no one would notice."

"Ah." Bill took her hands and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "But that's something of a problem because there's no such thing as a flame-haired armadillo."

She stepped closer, leaning towards him. "I zink we may have to remedy that."

"Indeed?"

"Oui."

Fleur rose to the pads of her feet, sliding her arms around Bill's neck. They kissed hungrily, but hadn't more than a few seconds before a most unwelcome sound echoed through the empty kitchen.

Someone nearby was having a coughing fit.

Bill laughed against Fleur's mouth, pulled away. Fleur looked understandably irritated. Without turning around, she snapped in French, "I don't care who you are. I don't care what you want. I don't care if the Dark Lord has come for breakfast. Go away."

"But I'm _hungry_," complained an all-too familiar voice, sounding at once disgusted and on the verge of giggling.

Fleur turned to find her sister standing at the entrance to the kitchen, eyes firmly shut.

"Are you two finished yet?" the girl queried innocently.

Glaring, Fleur started to make an angry retort, telling her sister that the House Elves could have brought her food, but Bill spoke first. "No, actually. As a matter of fact, I was just about to start kissing your sister's neck. It's going to be very icky. You may not want to see it." Fleur chuckled at the mischief in his tone.

"I told you that you were going to see something you regretted one day, little one," she added, smiling.

"But you said not to listen," Gabrielle protested. "I wasn't listening!" She rolled her eyes and lifted her hand in a gesture that reminded Fleur distinctly of their mother. "I'm going, I'm going. Why is everyone so grumpy lately?" She strolled out of the room at a dignified pace, holding her head up.

"It's not as if this place is exactly private," Bill said in Fleur's ear.

"She did it on purpose," Fleur said darkly. "She never comes in the kitchen."

"Probably so." She felt him shrug. "But you have to get used to it. Siblings are nosey by nature. They can't help themselves. You just have to learn how to deal with them."

"You would know." Fleur laughed. "With zose brothers of yours…" She trailed off, remembering Bill's twin brothers with no small dislike for their trick-playing ways.

"Yes. My brothers," he murmured distractedly, kissing her ear, laughing. "Annoying, they are."

"Very annoying," she agreed, twisting around and making a wry face. "Now I'm hungry," she said, slightly cross.

"One burned set of…" Bill trailed off, "let's call them breadsticks… coming up!"

From the other side of the room, two dimunative figures watched the laughing couple. One wrinkled her delicate nose and slipped further behind the door as her sister kissed a bit of batter off the English man's face. They were way too close to eachother for the girl's comfort. When they stepped closer, she looked away, crossing her arms and shaking her head in a very grown-up manner.

"That's disgusting," Gabrielle complained. "Do all people have to do that? First Mama and now Fleur... Maybe I should try it," she added thoughtfully.

"Jinxy does not think that is a good idea," squeaked her companion, who was wringing her hands nervously, as always. "But she knows that mistress Fleur doesn't want you peeking on her. "Come," she coaxed, pushing at her mistress. "Jinxy will get you and Master your breakfasts. Master needs some cheering up."

Her mistress nodded glumly, tearing her inquisitive eyes off her sister. "I suppose," she said. Jinxy heard the makings of a pout in her voice and shook her head, wringings her wrinkled, bruised (for Gabrielle and Master had been trying of late) little hands.

Sometimes she wondered if clothes were preferable to serving such a household of madwomen.

She then slapped herself upside the head and slammed the door on her hand for thinking such terrible things.

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Yes, I did get the feeling that they aren't a particularly modest couple. Heh. Turkey. See ya next week:)


	19. Chapter 19

:grins. sets out cookies:

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**_Chapter Nineteen: Silver Night._**

That night was a restless one for all.

Gabrielle had decided early in the evening that no, she would not go to bed at a decent hour, and had proceeded to drive the all ready frazzled House-elves up a wall. Literally. They still weren't quite sure how she'd managed it. Bill had managed to coax them down by threatening certain cooking supplies with his wand.

Mr. Delacour had come out of his room for the first time in days, and had wandered aimlessly around the darkest parts of the house, pulling his wand at the slightest hint of movement and muttering darkly about how he had contacts and he'd get that stupid muttering son of a mutter, oh yes he would. Bill also thought that he might have seen the man drinking from a bottle of wine, but thought it wiser not to mention it.

After a rather long argument, Fleur finally managed to convince Gabrielle to go in her room, if not to bed.

"She will be the death of me," Fleur murmured under her breath, "She will call insanity to me and push me with it off a cliff." Various mutterings in French that Bill tentatively translated as not very nice followed. They walked rather rapidly up the back set of stairs, hoping not to run into the roaming Jacques Delacour.

"She's fine. You're letting her get you angry, y'know," Bill said.

"Quiet," Fleur hissed, adding something that he was quite sure meant 'oaf'.

He snorted and paced himself so that he dropped behind her.

"Stop that!" Fleur cried irritably. "Why are you being so quiet?"

"I thought I was supposed to be quiet?" he queried, sounding far too close to amused for her tastes.

Fleur spun, extending her finger in a scolding manner, then dropped it abruptly, realizing that she wasn't talking to her baby sister. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." He sighed and quickened his pace a little so that they were walking side by side down the hallway, which was lit only my moonlight streaming in from gabled windows set high on the walls. Their footsteps echoed oddly on the wooden floor. "You could throw another teacup at me, if you think it would help," he offered gallantly, making her giggle quickly.

"I zought we 'ad moved past the teacup."

"I thought we had moved past 'oaf'" he said, raising an eyebrow and draping an arm around her waist.

She groaned and snuggled closer. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you. It is… I do not know 'ow to… Mama…" She shook her head viciously. "I do not know how to take care of her," she said finally.

"Here now, don't think anyone with a little sister doesn't have to go through the rebellious stage eventually," Bill scolded gently. "My sister—Ginny—she decided when she was about nine that she was being denied privileges that the boys were getting. Put up a right fight about it, too."

"Oui," Fleur sighed. "But she is not a Veela."

"No. She's worse," said Bill solemnly. "She's a redhead."

Fleur blinked, then laughed lightly. "'Ow horrible."

"No, I mean it. She and my mum are the last people you'd want to have a row with. Ginny knows some pretty impressive curses, she does." He shook his head slowly. "And I taught her half of them."

"Why would you do that?" Fleur asked, surprised.

Bill frowned. "Something happened to Ginny at Hogwarts… her first year. She wasn't hurt… physically, but she… I suppose she wanted to make sure it never happened again. So, she asked, I taught."

Curious as Fleur was, it obviously pained him to speak of it. His blue eyes darkened and his voice lowered in a mood that she did not often see. She tightened her arm around his waist. "Do not think of what troubles you," she advised softly, remembering her restless nights after the Tournament. "You will be haunted forever by what you think you could have done."

"You too, then," he answered. "I'm not the only one with a burden to carry. Am I?"

She shook her head. They walked the short way back to her room in a thoughtful silence.

When they arrived in the softly-colored room, Fleur immediately sank into a chair by her (roaring) fire.

"Mama will be home soon," she said, conviction warring with despair in her voice. She closed her eyes. "And we will go back to normal, yes?"

He laughed, settling down on the floor by her. "What's normal? Goblins and treason, then?"

"I ought to tell ze Goblins zat my father has been using his favors with them unwisely," she said darkly.

"Don't do that." Bill stretched slightly, staring into the fire sleepily. "Not worth it."

"Ha!" she cried, kicking out at her embroidered footstool.

Bill moved away, pretending to shield his head. "Hey… give a man fair warning before you do that." He shifted to accommodate her as she slid down to the floor with him. She kissed him in apology and leaned her head back on the footstool, draping her legs over his.

"I weesh we could stay in England for Christmas," she sighed. "Here, it is dull."

He chuckled, and then stifled a yawn. "I should think not. It's just irritating in a different way."

"Ha," she said softly. "Eet is all irritating, no?"

"Tiring," he agreed.

"Never-ending."

"Where would the fun be if it did?"

Tired from a long day of sister and elf chasing (respectively), both were soon fast asleep by the dimming fire. A House elf would come in every once and a while, stroke the fire, and whoosh out silently without waking the sleepers.

Shortly after the clock in the hallway (a strange-looking stone piece) announced that it was two 'o clock in the morning in deep, even tones, a very odd thing happened.

First, one of Fleur's bedroom windows blew open, seemingly by a particularly strong gust of wind. The windows were never locked. Drapes billowed into the room, flying up like white-green phantoms. The fire all but went out.

Used to sleeping near vicious spirits and vengeful mummies, the whoosh of the curtains woke Bill up first. Shivering at the cold breeze, he eased Fleur off his lap and got up to shut the window.

That turned out to be something of a mistake. A great, silver creature, wispy and almost transparent, shot through the window and knocked him down.

That woke Fleur up.

The silver form hovered around Bill for a moment while she watched, confused. He seemed to know what it was, to welcome it, even. He didn't need her help. She reached for her wand anyway.

As swiftly as it had come, the form rushed back out the window, slamming the window shut in its wake.

Bill exhaled slowly, his face stricken. He had a small piece of parchment clutched in his hand.

"Are you all right?" Fleur whispered, going to him and touching his face with trembling hands. "Are you hurt? What was…?" She then realized that she thought she recognized it. But no… that was absurd. What would that be doing here?

He manuevered them both to their feet, shaking his head. "It was a Patronus," he said dully.

"But what—"

Walking purposefully across the room, Bill said, "It's a charm that combats—"

"I know what it is!" she snapped. "What in the name of Merlin was it doing here?"

"We communicate with them," Bill said absently, already in the hall. "Can't be traced. Travels long distances without detection by anyone other than its intended receiver. Concealment spells."

Fleur ran after Bill, struggling to keep up with his long strides. "We," she stated. "Who are "we", William?" She had yanked a robe from her room and now started to tie it around her waist. A sick sense of dread was creeping up into her stomach.

He finally seemed to notice her. "I have to go," he said reluctantly. "Something's awful's happened and I'm needed." He looked her straight in the eyes, pleadingly.

"Then let me come with you."

"You can't leave. No. You can't," he said briskly, continuing his long, even strides.

She put a hand out, blocking his path and looked at him.

"My father's hurt," he explained, his voice almost eerily devoid of emotion, like he was shutting himself off. "My mother wants me home. Fair enough?"

She let go, glaring. "All the more reason to hurry."

Before she realized what was happening, he was gone, vanished away to the floo stations. He'd left a small, crumpled piece of parchment in her hand. Taking itas an invitation, Fleur stalked back to her room to get dressed.

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My beta's response to this chapter was: "Very funny. Where's the real chapter?"

Ouch.

(BTW, that was my somewhat weird interpretation of the Order's communication system. But Rowling wasn't too specific, so I do have a big of latitude. :D )

We approach the twentieth chapter :D I had planned about five more chapters... perhaps less. And I'm thinking of going through HBP later, but I don't know if I'm up to it. Hang in there.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Um. Yes. Hi. :) It's me. With the chapter. The one I re-wrote six times and was about to give up on altogether. This chapter is, well, rather important. I actually had fun writing it. 'Specially the end. You'll see why._**

**_You mayas well know that you have Roodle to thank for this chapter. Her shamefulrequest made me finally get out of my mooping period and finish up the stupid thing._**

**_

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_**

**_Chapter Twenty: Serious._**

It was too quiet.

Bill had been to Saint Mungo's more than once before, when one sibling or another had a mishap that couldn't be fixed by household magic (such as a memorable incident involving a broomstick and an acid pop). Living in a household with seven rowdy boys had its drawbacks.

But then the hospital had never seemed so… forbidding, so cold. Fred and George had made sure of that (when they weren't the ones being treated, of course).

The Healers had herded him here after he had asked for her father… a small, sterile-smelling room with more of the hard, rickety chairs that lined the chaotic outer waiting room, explaining that he should wait there with his mother until they had news on his father. That had been it. The diminutive, red-faced healer that had greeted him then shut the door firmly with an absent flick of his wand and had left them alone.

The only noticeable sound was of a thoroughly distraught Molly Weasley pacing the length of the tiny family waiting room, her shoes making soft scuffing noises as she went, little sobs breaking her grim silence every few minutes.

She had only stopped her pacing once, after he had entered, hugged him hard enough to crack his ribs, said in a rather high-pitched voice that the rest of the Order was either out looking for the thing that had attacked his father or at home, waiting. Couldn't have anyone but the family here, after all. Mustn't draw attention to themselves.

He had known better than to question her further. If he felt like marching out into the lobby and shaking that elf-sized healer until he let him see his father, then his mother's state was far, far worse.

"Mum," he ventured quietly. "Maybe you'd better sit down? Wearing yourself out isn't going to help anything."

Molly stopped mid-pace and looked at him as if she had only just realized he was there. Bill shifted imperceptibly in his uncomfortable chair. Maybe that had been a bad idea…

"I'm fine. Your father isn't. I'll go mad if I have to sit still." She continued her path across the room, vaguely resembling, he thought, one of Charlie's dragons when they were in the height of anger. If not for her mournful, frightened expression, the comparison would be very apt.

Your father isn't.

Bill had to force himself not to think about that. His father couldn't die. That didn't happen. That wasn't supposed to happen. That wouldn't happen. Thinking about it made his stomach clench oddly. He wouldn't think about it.

After what seemed like hours of the harsh, sterile silence, there was a brisk knock on the door.

Bill swiftly got to his feet, but Molly again stopped mid-pace and marched towards the door, yanked it open. Bill looked easily over her shoulder, his heart pounding a great deal faster than usual.

The little healer stood there, his thin lips curving upward slightly. "Are you Mrs. Arthur Weasley?" he question in a nasal voice, although surely he already knew the answer to that.

"I am," his mother said, sounding as if she'd rip the man's head off it he delayed telling her much longer.

The healer drew a stained (with potions and what was, perhaps, blood) hand across his brow in a gesture of exaggerated relief. "Splendid. I'd forgotten where we'd left you for a moment." He must have caught a glance of Molly's thunderous expression, for he quickly continued. "I'm happy to tell you that your husband is going to be fine. He gave us quite a time, but we're confident that there won't be any lasting damage."

Mother and son stared at the little man, who smiled nervously.

Molly made a sobbing sound. She reached down and embraced the healer in a back-breaking hug, turned to hug Bill, and was suddenly off down the corridor at a fast pace, her knitted bag flying behind her.

The healer gasped in horror and cried, "Now… now… Mrs. Weasley… wait just one minute! You can't go in there! I say, Mrs. Weasley, don't…" The man glanced back at Bill. "Stay there!" he insisted and dashed off after Molly as fast as his legs could carry him.

Bill laughed, relieved beyond conscious thought. He walked slowly back into the waiting-room and sat down into a chair. Suddenly, the room didn't smell so foreboding. Dad, you old rascal. Don't ever do that again.

Deciding that the poor healer had enough on his hands (and that his father couldn't handle so many enthusiastic visitors at once), Bill closed his eyes and tilted the chair back until it leaned against the wall.

"Oi! Ma'am, if you please…I told you that you could wait out… Ah… I…"

There was the sound of clicking heels, then a firmly shut door.

Bill smiled again, recognizing the odd, flowery scent that suddenly pervaded the room. "You really shouldn't scare the poor healers like that, love."

A touch of fabric brushed against his hand and the scent got closer. "Zey were annoying me." There was a squeak as a chair was pulled across the room and a thump as it settled across from him. She was close enough that he could feel her knees touch his as she sat. "Is your father well?" she asked carefully.

He opened his eyes. "The healers say so. I'm waiting to see him now." Lowering his chair so that all four legs rested on the ground, he added, "I'm still worried for him."

She nodded, slowly. He noticed that her hair had been twisted up, which was somewhat amusing. Even after being woken up at two in the morning and rushing cross-country, she still looked like she had dressed for a dance. But her eyes were shadowed as they rarely were.

She shouldn't be with me, Bill thought. She should be with some nice, foppish French lad that never gets her into any trouble. That never makes her eyes look like that. He sighed a little. Of course, that would bore her, make her feel trapped, and she'd likely go out and get into trouble all by herself. Better I'm there to get in trouble with her.

She may look frail, but she's got one hell of a throwing arm, some part of him insisted suddenly.

Sliding forward in her chair, Fleur said, "I am sorry he was hurt." She touched his hand and swiftly drew back, staring at a point over Bill's shoulder. Bill turned and found a narrow-eyed Molly Weasley standing in the doorway.

Oh… no.

"Mum," Bill said quickly. He stood. "How's Dad… is he all right?"

Molly seemed to shudder, then she looked at her son. "He's still out. He lost quite a bit of blood before they found him. The healers say that he should be able to talk to us in a few hours." She bit her trembling lip. "He looked so pale. And he's lost his glasses. You know how hard it is to find those silly things…"

Bill immediately gathered her into a hug, patting her back. "Come on, then. Dad's tough, you know that. It'll take a lot more than this to get him down."

"That's what I'm afraid of," said Molly ominously.

He patted her back once more, then let her go. "Don't say that."

Fleur looked vaguely uncomfortable. She had risen as well, and was standing with her hands folded behind her back, looking at Mrs. Weasley with abashed interest. Mrs. Weasley stared back.

Warily, the women eyed each other. Bill winced inwardly, keeping his face blank. This is, quite possibly, the worst way they could have met, he thought dourly.

"Mum," Bill said carefully, "This is Fleur Delacour. She was worried when I said that Dad was hurt and came down to make sure everything was all right. Fleur," he nodded towards her, "this is my mother."

Both women gave curt nods and tight smiles to each other. Bill found himself swearing in more than one language. That was his mother's stare of impending wrath. Fortunately, it seemed to be directed at him.

"I'm glad to meet you. Mrs. Weasley," Fleur said finally. "I…" she seemed to hesitate "apologize for intruding."

"No trouble at all," his mother said, mustering a warmer smile, though she was still clearly going to have Bill's head after Fleur left. "Would you mind if I spoke with Bill for a moment, dear?"

Bill silently began to prepare himself, but Fleur shook her head. "I was 'oping to speak with Bill. Zat is why I am here."

Looking from woman to woman, Bill wondered vaguely if they would serve pumpkin juice at his funeral. He hated pumpkin juice. Fleur would likely do it just to spite him. "Mum, I do rather think I know what you are going to say to me. Unless it has to do with Dad, it can wait."

His mother drew herself up in a way that promised that she was upset, but Bill held firm. He knew it wasn't fair… she'd been through too much tonight, but biting off his head for having his lady-friend come to the hospital could indeed wait.

He looked at her expectantly, but she shook her head and sat down on the nearest chair. "The healers have forbidden me to leave this room until I'm ready to go home," she said coldly. "I do think I must have scared that rabbit of a man."

"I'm going to be talking quite a lot," Bill warned.

Molly shifted. "I suspected you might. Go on, then. I may not like it, but if Dumbledore himself says that she's all right, then I suppose she's all right."

"Dumbledore said that."

"Right after you left for France."

Bill's eyes narrowed. "And you never told me."

"You already knew," said Molly simply.

"That I did." Bill sighed. "Promise not to interrupt?"

"I suppose."

Bill turned to Fleur, who was now looking quite thoroughly bewildered and shrugged. "You'd better sit down."

She did so, twisting the fabric of her robes with one hand. It looked painful.

Bill sat on the floor by her and slowly, softly, he explained. About the Order and what he did for it. About the Death Eaters and what they did. About the night Crouch had attacked her, among other things.

Finally, he said, "I'm sorry," softly, so his mother wouldn't catch it, and watched Fleur's reaction with the steady quietness that was such a welcome part of him.

She'd pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them. She was confused. Either that or she was sinking back into her ice-queen act.

She rested her head atop her knees, looking at him plaintively. "That's it?" she asked quite calmly.

Bill blinked. "Well, actually… yes. Yes it is." He leaned back in his chair, regarding her warily. Here was a look he'd never seen before. Her lips were curving downward, her brows drawn together, but her eyes were glittering oddly. He didn't dare try to interpret her expression.

She laughed suddenly, harshly, the sound drawing a bemused glance from him. Her expression had steadily changed until she looked quite wrathful. "There is a tearoom here, yes?" she asked.

Bill nodded slowly. "Yes." Oh, no.

"Good," she said briskly. "For I think I will now break an entire tea-set over your profondément stupid 'ead!"

Molly gasped; Bill laughed outright.

"I am not joking!" Fleur said severely. "You…" She seemed overcome and her feet slipped off the chair, her arms folded.

"I'm sure you're not. That's why it's funny," Bill said quite calmly.

"You think I am weak," Fleur said darkly. "Zat is why you never told me. You thought that I would betray you."

"No," said Bill bluntly. "That's not true. And you know it. This is dangerous work and—"

"And you thought that I was not strong enough to help you with it!" Fleur snapped.

"I didn't want you to get hurt. Strong people tend to get hurt more readily than the weak," Bill said simply.

"You should have let me take that risk," Fleur said, sounding hurt.

"I know that now." He moved back, but she dropped off her chair so that her eyes were level with his.

"Good," she said, smiling in a way that was almost cat-like. "Zen you would not object to me 'elping you now." It was not exactly a question. She took his hand and traced one of the scars on it, the ones that he had never had removed. The one that she liked so much. "And now I theenk I owe my father an apology. You _do_ belong to a clandestine organization. Just not the one he thought."

"You don't seem to be having too hard a time accepting this," Bill said weakly, marveling at her swift change of subject.

"I do not. I know about those… things. The ones that killed Cedric at the tournament. They should be fought. All the better that my man is fighting them, as I will." Fleur sounded very firm on the whole thing.

Bill had almost laughed at the term "my man". That had been strictly for his mother's ears and they all knew it. He tightened his grip on her slender hand and smiled. There was no one else he'd rather share clandestine information with.

_Let the games begin…_

* * *

_**I'll have you know that I would have finished this hours ago, had myfather not decided that I was starting to resemble Gollum and dragged me out of the study for dinner.** . ._

_**Ya for chapter number twenty! Big milestone. Very happy.**_


	21. Chapter 21

**_Hello, 'n all that. :flees: _**

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**_Chapter Twenty-One: Talk and Friends._**

In the end, it was all rather anticlimactic. Bill was called in to see his father and his mother hurried after him, shooting Fleur an odd look. Fleur had the distinct impression that that the woman didn't like her. Well, that was fine. She didn't like her, either.

They talked later and decided that it would be best to spend Christmas with their respective families. Bill went back to work and watched after his father, fearing that whatever had attacked him would come back to finish the job. It never did, of course. Fleur secretly thought that nothing would dare try anything while her Bill was there.

Fleur's Christmas consisted mostly of consoling Gabrielle in place of her parents. She found herself ready to have her father's head on a platter by the end of the holidays. Stupid man. He could at least try to act like he wasn't acting like a five year-old, couldn't he?

Eventually, Fleur could extend her vacation no longer. She felt badly about leaving the still sulking Gabrielle, but Jinxie assured her that Gabrielle would be back to normal once she had lessons to whinge about again. (She promptly poured cleaning fluid into her eyes for her forwardness.)

So it was on the night of December the twenty-ninth that Fleur and Gabrielle were lounging around the roaring fire in their father's study. Fleur planned to leave the following day and was attempting to coax Gabrielle out of the sulks. It wasn't working. Gabrielle was lying on her stomach on a soft, blue rug, watching her enchanted wooden animals march about the room with sleepy interest. She hadn't talked in nearly twenty minutes.

Pushing an errant wooden animal off her book, Fleur peered over the edge of the massive desk. "Gabrielle? Are you even awake, little one?"

There was a noncommittal sigh.

Fleur shook her head with loving exasperation and curled back up in the high-backed chair, staring into the fire, enjoying the sleepy, comfortable feeling that seemed to permeate the room.

Jinxie cleared her throat nervously from the cracked-open door. She was twisting the edge of her hand-towel and hopping from foot to foot.

Fleur twisted her head around to look at the House elf. "What has papa done now, Jinxie?" she asked in resigned tones.

"It… it isn't being the master, mistress Fleur," Jinxie stammered. She seemed to be trying to dust off the door handle with her towel. "There is someone to visit mistress Fleur."

"Visit? Who?" Fleur sat up and straightened her rumpled robes.

Jinxie glanced at Gabrielle and made frantic gestures towards the hall. Fleur rose an eyebrow at the little creature's antics, but got up and followed her out.

She stopped mid step and stared at the elderly man standing in their hallway for a few seconds before regaining her dignity. "Professor," she said quickly, tilting her head to him. "What an… unusual surprise." She immediately regretted saying it. But what was she supposed to say?

Albus Dumbledore dipped his head in return, gazing at her with oddly soft blue eyes. "I am sorry for not calling ahead, Miss Delacour," he said warmly, "but I had not planned on this stop until a few minutes ago."

Fleur gestured to the dinning room and offered him a chair. He sat down. She did not.

"I wonder 'ow I might 'elp you? You have come a long way…" Fleur began, puzzled.

"It is not such a great distance as all that. I enjoy visiting Madame Maxime on occasion… in her school instead of mine. Her insight is valuable and her conversation a rare joy." He gave an odd hand gesture and smiled warmly at her. "I decided, on the advice of members of my staff, to pay you a very short visit on my way to Beauxbatons."

"Why is this, sir?" Fleur asked, steadying herself with a palm pressed against the wall. Although part of her warned that his words should put her on the defensive, there was something disarming about the old gentleman.

"I understand you have… become involved with a certain organization of mine through a Mr. Weasley," he said simply. "I was quite charmed to have you find your way to us. Olymph has always spoken highly of you."

Fleur smiled at this, suddenly missing the warm, steady presence of her old teacher. "You honor me," she said quietly.

"Not quite, I think, as much as you deserve," said solemnly. "I had thought to leave you be after the… events of the Tournament. It seems things were meant to go otherwise."

"Yes," Fleur whispered half to herself, not trusting herself to speak. Perhaps she would never be able to think of last year without feeling this way. She couldn't help but feel a little angry that the Professors had thought her so fragile.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. "It is quite a dangerous thing young Mr. Weasley… and now you are involved in," he said, glancing at her curiously.

"Yes, sir," she said carefully, feeling herself flush. "But I do not care."

Dumbledore looked at her over his half-spectacles, his eyes twinkling in a decidedly amused manner. "I do suppose not." He rose and she followed. "I do, however, see the wisdom in having someone you trust with you at all times. Yes, I think you and Mr. Weasley will work quite well together."

He left as quickly and silently as he had come, saying that he was expected shortly at the offices of Beauxbatons and Fleur had Jinxie take Gabrielle up to bed, kissing her forehead gently as she passed. She was not quite sure the last few minutes had happened at all.

She paused in the cheerily-lit study, thinking. _Well. That was… interesting._

The leader of the Order of the Phoenix was a very strange man, she decided. Strange, but very great indeed.

It had been a strange Christmas. Bill had been either holed up working or visiting his family… or talking with the Goblins and trying to gage their furtive alliances; or, most unpleasantly, keeping a sharp eye on their possible enemy operative. It made for very stressful times.

But on the morning of the thirtieth of December, things took an unexpected turn for the worst.

Bill had gotten to the bank early and was flipping idly through the reports that had piled up in his absence, chuckling at the more bizarre and enjoying the peaceful (if cold) silence. The Goblins and security trolls were there as always… but without any customers they kept things down to a dull roar.

Hearing a noise, he'd looked up. And there, in the doorway, stood the last person he'd expected to see (with the rather glaring exception of the Dark Lord wearing a tea cozy…). The figure's overtly puffed-up stance was easily visible in the well-lit corridor.

"Can I help you?" he asked a little coldly, just as if the figure was merely that annoying secretary that irritated Fleur so. What else could he say? _Dammit… what am I supposed to do with him?_

His brother detached himself from the shadows, looking distinctly nervous. "I just wanted to ask you about… about dad… and mum… I wanted to know how they were doing."

"You couldn't have gone and asked yourself," Bill snapped, exasperated. "Dad could have died, you great big git, and you wouldn't have been there. Have you any idea how much you've upset mum over this?"

"I'm sorry about mum," said Percy, his voice straying back into "pompous ministry official" registers. "I never meant to hurt her feelings. But there comes a time in every man's life…"

Bill said, softly, warningly, "Percy". There were some things that shouldn't be used in serious discussion. His brother had been reading too many instructionary textbooks.

"Do you have any idea how much he humiliated me?" Percy's voice wavered just the tiniest bit, cracking in a way that took Bill aback.

Bill shook his head. "No. But I still can't see how it could be bad enough that you refused to even visit mum when you heard that dad had been hurt." He held up a hand to forestall his brother's next words. "Don't, all right? I'll tell mum you were concerned. Dad's fine. I'm sure you have places to be."

Percy had gotten over his vulnerability and his shoulders had been drawn back proudly. "Well. Yes… I'm happy that father has sufficiently recovered. I really must be getting back to work now." He walked out, his legs stiff and his mouth set in a firm line that belied his self-assured tone.

When he was out of sight, Bill buried his face in his hands, feeling like he just done a very stupid thing. Now Percy would think the whole family was against him. Although Bill was angry with Percy, he wanted him to come back. If only to make his mother happy again.

"I zought you were not speaking to the one with glasses," Fleur asked curiously from the doorway.

Bill got up. "You're back." He crossed the room and hugged her quickly, letting her toes skim the ground.

Fleur smiled in her sly way. "Zat I am. And you," she scolded, "are at ze work far too early."

"I wanted to get a head start,'" Bill admitted, sitting on the edge of his desk. "How was Christmas."

He received a look.

"That bad." Bill laughed. "I'm sorry. If it helps, we had to deal with the antics of the one with glasses." Pointing out the door, he grimaced.

"Your Professor Dumbledore came to see us," Fleur said, her brows drawing together artfully. "He is a most strange man. I did not notice quite 'ow strange at the Tournament."

Bill raised his eyebrows, but was interrupted by Bladvak's gravely voice. The little Goblin came in the door, full of obvious pleasure at having his employee back and eager to drop off certain paperwork. He talked at an almost dizzying speed.

"The monthly reports are…" Bladvak caught sight of Fleur and blinked rapidly. "Dear me. Whatever are you doing in here?" he asked curiously.

"I was just welcoming Mr. Weasley back," Fleur said in dignified tones.

"Well. Yes." Bladvak seemed to forget she was even there.

Fleur swept out, looking slightly flushed. Bill smiled a bit and turned his attention to his employer. It was going to be a long day.

And it was.

Months passed, bringing with them, among other things, disturbing news of the mass Azkaban breakout and some of the worst nights of Fleur's life.

It was the combined fear for both Bill and herself that kept her awake at night. She slept with her wand now, keeping it close at her side instead of on her nightstand. Bill had tried to lighten her mood… joking that she would blow her fingers off. That earned him a glass of wine over the head and he did not mention it again.

One particularly trying night, Fleur was lying in her bed, pent-up energy tensing her muscles. She felt very much like hexing something… or someone.

Little did she know, miles away, in a tall, creaking house known as the Burrow, a woman she would never suspect of worry was pacing the floor of her bedroom. Waiting. Waiting for her husband to come home.

Bill was due… had been due… to check in with her one minute past (as he had been doing since his mother and father had moved back into their own house, far from London).

Just as she was about to get up, she heard the door wards shudder slightly... a mild curse…he'd forgotten the proper sequence… then the creak of the door opening quietly.

Fleur thought darkly that, on the off chance that a Death Eater had entered her flat, he would suffer for interuppting her non-existant sleep.

Someone entered the bedroom and sighed softly. "I can feel you wanting to curse me from here. "Hey." Bill bent over the bed and brushed at her cheek. "What are you doing up?"

"Thinking," Fleur said carefully.

"About what?" The bed shifted slightly as he sat on its edge.

She rolled over to look at him. He was only barely visible in the darkness. "About 'ow much I would like to find zose Death Eaters and… make them stop," she finished, shrugging. "Don't you ever become tired of zem?"

"Tired?" He laughed quietly, then his voice lowered. "Every day." The bed creaked as he leaned on his elbow, his fang earring a vague shadow dangling over his shoulder.

"Zen why does the Order not seek zem out themselves?" Fleur asked hotly, sitting up.

"It's like a chess game, Fleur," Bill said, slowly, sounding tired. "We sneak around, they sneak around… we move secretly, they move secretly, trying to figure out what each other is going to do next without giving ourselves away. First one to take a big leap either wins…" he paused "or loses… everything. We aren't quite ready to drop the clandestine act just yet."

Fleur snorted, folding her arms. "Zey are cowards. Filthy cowards."

"Oh, I can think of worse labels than that," Bill said dryly. "Ones that I shall happily call them if I ever meet one face to face in a real fight." He rested his head on the headboard. "Whenever that is."

"'Opefully not until I am with you. You are too… honorable to fight men, Bill. You must be… how do you say this… crafty." She bared her teeth in a fierce smile, brushing her hair off her shoulder.

Bill chuckled, a real laugh this time. "I'll bet." He leaned over and kissed the corner of her mouth. "Get some sleep, oh crafty one."

Fleur yawned in spite of herself. "Of course. And you must go eat. Do not break anything and come back when you are done." She settled back against her pillows, finally feeling sated enough to sleep.

"Yes, ma'am," Bill laughed, still sounding tired. Tired, but not quite, perhaps, as grey.

She was asleep by the time he came back in. He had tested the wards around the flat, carefully making sure there were no loopholes. There weren't. Fleur was nothing if not confident in the nasty curses department.

"Goodnight," he murmured to her sleeping form, kissing her forehead. Eventually, he wandered out into the living room and fell into an uneasy sleep himself.

Bill wasn't on duty when the next move of the chess game came, nearly four months later. None of the Weasleys were. By the time they were able to respond, it was too late and Bill was once again visiting family members in the hospital wing. Only this time, not everyone had come out all right. Sirius Black was dead.

Next time, he wondered, would it be one of his siblings that died? His parents?

The best thing to do, the only thing to do now was to live every day as if it was the last one. Because now… it just might be.

* * *

I hoppe Dumbledore and Percy weren'ttoo OOC. :worried: I just wanted them in the story because I love them both and they had to make cameos before I'd finished.

One more chapter, peeps. I think you'll like it.

(Oh, and sorry for the time warp at the end. My muse um, ran away with me there.)


	22. Chapter 22

:pops in, smiling rather sheepishly: Erh. Let's just say that when faced with a choice of writing up a new chapter and watching my new Alias DVDs, the chapter? Lost. :p

In all seriousness, though, I'm very happy to have finished. This has been a lot of fun. I hope this little story amused all of you in some way. There might be a story after this, but it'll be a month or so while I plan it out. Writing things on the go does not turn out very well for me.

Thank you, and goodnight!

**_

* * *

_**

**_Chapter Twenty-two: The End of a Long Day._**

A little while after all the turmoil that had so shocked the Wizarding world, two employees of the Bank could be seen arriving at a small, out of the way village in central Egypt. The man was flame-haired, tall, and comfortable with the land. The woman was perhaps the most beautiful that many in the town had ever seen, and picked her way across the sands, tripping often. The man would catch her, laughing, then show her how to balance… then trip himself while so distracted.

They took a room at the inn, saying they would stay only the night, then headed off into the desert. The (rather large) Wizarding population of the town supposed that they had come to secure the Goblin's nearby stash. The Bank must be quite worried over the recent incident at the Department of Mysteries, after all.

The Muggles of the town merely expressed a wish that the bickering couple not trip into a sand dune and smother themselves before going about their business, muttering about foolish tourists.

Bill Weasley was doing just as the Wizards of the town had suggested… or trying to, in any case. The spells on the well-hidden, Muggle-repellant little hoard did not want to be strengthened, or messed with in any way at all, for that matter. Fleur Delacor was merely taking notes for the benefit of the Goblins. They were curious about the efficiency of their employees, they said.

Of course, a desk-bound curse breaker and a secretary/filer from the London branch ought not to be messing with security measures on an obscure vault in the middle of the Egypt Branch. But Bill had reasoned and cajoled and "suggested" that he might have a break from the tediousness of the desk and they had, for reasons of their own, listened.

Bill was, however, beginning to think that he might have made a mistake.

The woman of his affections was sitting cross-legged on a flat, round rock that looked very unnatural in its current setting, a roll of parchment on which a nasty-looking acid-green quill taking notes of its own accord settled across her knees. She was trying her best to look impassive, but instead looked somewhat amused. "You might try ze other plan, yes?" she called. "Zis quill does not understand all the strange _jurez _words you are using."

Bill, from his position a few yards away, threw a narrow-eyed glance back at her, taking his attention off his subject. This proved to be a fatal mistake.

A sharp, localized beam of energy knocked him hard into a rather undignified position on the ground.

Suddenly concerned, Fleur half-stood and called out. "Are you all right?"

Bill waved a hand in response, signaling that he was fine. Fleur then started to laugh.

As she got up, still laughing, and ran over to him, he groaned and lay back in the sand. This was not going the way he'd planned.

As with most things, he had had it all worked out. He would take Fleur with him on a trip abroad… the bank asked him to do minor jobs in certain places every now and then, and this time he would accept. Fleur would be his back-up (the offices had not liked that idea). They would be alone, away from all the mounting stress and crushing weight the last few weeks had brought. Then… well…

It hadn't quite worked out that way. At least she was having a nice time of it.

Fleur reached him, looked down, and arched an eyebrow. "You are just going to lie there."

"Yes. It's comfortable." Bill folded his arms behind his head and half-smiled.

Fleur put a hand on her hip and tapped her foot impatiently.

"No, I'm not just going to lie here," Bill sighed, and got up gingerly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, now." Fleur slid an arm around his waist, smirking. "You will go with my idea first in the future."

Bill grinned, draping an arm over her shoulder. "No. Your plan, my dear, would have gotten us both mangled beyond recognition. My plan simply injured my dignity. It was a minor setback."

Fleur shrugged, glancing up at him teasingly. "I would not want to see a major setback."

"Hey. I'm just a little out of practice…"

"You should perhaps get back into practice. It is getting dark." She brushed a strand of hair, which was quite unaffected by the breeze, behind her ear and looked up expectantly. "What are we doing now?"

Bill laughed a little. "We are going to go back to the rock and formulate another plan. And you are going to erase this little incident from you notes."

Fleur shook her head before he had finished, cocking an eyebrow. "Shame on you. You must live with your humiliations."

"Yes ma'am." Bill sat down on the hard, rock, stretching his long legs a bit. "Shall we add in the part about you giving rather forceful advice to your superior?"

She slid in beside him. "Of course," she said seriously. "We shall also add in zat her superior almost became dragon meat and brought his underling to zis place under false pretenses."

He grinned. "What makes you say that?"

"I do not belong to your office, yes? So I should not be ze… what did you call it?"

"Note-taker."

"Oui. 'Note-taker'."

"But you make a very good not-taker," Bill teased.

That earned him a glare and a slight shove. "Did ze… clandestine organization ask you here?"

"No. I would have told you." Bill shook his head quickly. "They aren't quite happy about it, really. Because of… you know." His face became a little dark. "We'll have to check in regularly and be back very soon."

"Oh." Fleur frowned a little. "So you are… running away."

"No!" Bill said, irritated. "I wanted to…"

"Make me annoyed with you. Well, you have done zat," Fleur said, suddenly huffy.

"It isn't very romantic is it?" Bill dipped his head back. "I'm sorry."

"Why would I want eet to be romantic here?" Fleur cocked an eyebrow at him. "You are very romantic at 'ome."

"This had to be special," he admitted frankly. _Stupid, stupid…_

"Why?" she pressed, leaning forward.

"You sound like Gabrielle," Bill said, smiling.

"No, Gabrielle would 'ave hexed it out of you by now," Fleur snapped.

"All right." Bill sighed once, then said quickly. "I wanted to ask you a question."

Fleur froze, a strange look etched on her face.

Bill, taking the fact that she hadn't slapped him as a good sign, reached into his bag and took out a leather bag. He shook it out carefully, letting the simple banded ring drop into his palm. "I haven't ever met a woman like you. I doubt there is anyone like you. Will you marry me?"

She sat back, her wide, blue eyes bigger than usual, her face breaking out into a small smile even as she said, "You did not take so long."

"I was rather afraid that you would pick another fellow to throw a teacup at," Bill grinned.

"You're the only person I will ever throw dishes at, my love." Fleur slid into the sand next to him. "You should never worry."

He felt very silly, stammering and looking down as if he was still a teenager mooning over a first crush… but it was a good sort of silliness.

"Zat is a yes," Fleur added, when he didn't say anything. She looked very pretty when she blushed. Of course, pretty hadn't ever been an adequate word to describe her. One couldn't blame a man for failing to find proper adjectives just now, though, could they?

After this, there was much kissing and whirling about, during which Fleur's robes got very dirty and Bill's dignity was lost rather spectacularly. Neither of them cared about such trifles, though. There was a sort of glow about…. The warmth of kisses and the joy in being able to forget the troubles of a very dark world, if only for a few hours.

Eventually, they walked back to the village, leaving plan B and the sealed treasure until tomorrow. The wind soon reduced the trace of their presence to a double line of tracks in the sand, weaving close in places, merging in others.

But soon, there was nothing at all.

_**The End.**_


End file.
